Nunquam Somnus: Never Sleep
by With A Midnight Smile
Summary: After Voldemort's plan succeeds and Dumbledore shows his colors, Harry goes to another world. He wants to help his other self, Charlotte, prevent Voldemort from being such a threat, and live. He is Evan Pronghorn, and he's ready to be himself. Abandoned
1. Stranger

Nunquam Somnus: Never Sleep

**Words: 9,565**

**Disclaimer: Own not, profit not. If you recognize it, darn good chance it isn't mine. Not for the closed minded. And it's only as canon as I want it to be. So nyah. Spoilers from all seven books, plus made up stuff where I don't like what they have. A bit of a "Super Harry" fic, in that he is competent. And yes, I am very much female.**

**Warnings: Spoilers from all books. DH and HBP ignored sometimes (such as in the cases of the Happily Ever After, Harry not taking the Elder Wand, he actually learned how to do wards and stuff, he's competent, etc). Dumbledore and Prewett/Weasley bashing. Mixed up genders. Mentions of child abuse and sexual abuse. Extra characters, mainly minor. Some characters have different names. May be more warnings in later chapters. Impolite language. Same sex pairings.**

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_Chapter 1 – Stranger_

_"It's alright for a stranger to kiss your hand as long as he's perfect." Mae West_

Charlotte Potter had never been an ordinary girl by any means. She grew up with her aunt and uncle, Patricia and Vernon Dursley, and her twin-cousins Dudley and Delilah, all of whom were terribly normal. Aunt Patricia was a botanist that worked at a nearby nursery on the weekends, while Uncle Vernon sold drills. Dudley was a fat boy with a penchant for hitting people, though not girls because that wasn't socially acceptable. Delilah didn't have that limitation though, and the large girl – who wouldn't be out of place playing men's rugby – would often beat Charlotte up, because she was a "freak".

Her aunt always called her a freak, and maybe she was. Charlotte was an orphan, who didn't know her own name until she started Kindergarten. That was the year the social workers started coming, because she hadn't known her name was Charlotte, not just "girl" or "freak". They never found evidence though, despite the purple bruises and worn out clothes that she got from Delilah, even though teachers and neighbors constantly called to try and get an investigation.

Charlotte always healed quickly too, her bruises gone the next day, broken bones completely mended in a week, though still tender a while later. Once, when her aunt had given her a haircut "so she wouldn't waste so much shampoo", she woke with it full length again, though a bit darker. She'd been locked in the cupboard for a week that time. She also got the extra punishments that no one but she and Uncle Vernon were to know about. Those were the worst, because it made her Uncle so happy. She hated to see him happy. If she could really hate anyone in the world, she could hate that whale of a man.

Strange things just happened around Charlotte, including odd people greeting her when she swore she had never met them. One moment she might be walking to school, and suddenly an odd man or woman wearing a bathrobe would shake her hand vigorously or bow, saying it was such an honor, and then walk off. Whenever the Dursleys asked after them, she would always answer that she really didn't know what was going on.

It was a dream of hers that, one day, one of these random people would take her away. They were her mother's uncle or something, and they would take her away from the Dursleys, the beatings. They would take her some place magical and wonderful, where she might have her own room and food on a more reliable basis than whenever the Dursleys remembered to feed her.

When she turned eleven, a large man came and took her to Diagon Alley, where she learned that she was a witch. She spent the next three years attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, because she was, in fact, a witch. Hogwarts was amazing, and it made a small smile come upon her face to do so much as to think about it. Hogwarts with its moving staircases, her friends, and even the Chamber of Secrets (though that was rather unpleasant to think of the battle, the Chamber was a quiet place to just sit and think of other things) was home.

But every summer she had to return to Number 4 Privet Drive to be bullied and harassed. At the end of third year, after meeting her godfather, that Charlotte had a name for what her Uncle did to her. She knew it was illegal, and he could be put in Azkaban for it because of the fact that the man did it, and not just because it was to her, Charlotte Potter, She-Who-Survived, or because she was a witch, because rape was illegal, always. It was a rare moment where such things wouldn't be special treatment at all. But every time she tried to report him over the summer, Hedwig would return with no reply, and her feathers tweaked, as if she had been intercepted. If she tried to tell the muggle authorities, she couldn't find a police man, or the phone would be unhooked. She could only wonder what force was working against her. Voldemort didn't have that sort of plan for her. The dreams showed otherwise.

It wasn't until her 14th birthday that something happened, something wonderful. A man appeared. He looked to be 17, perhaps 18, with messy black hair and she couldn't help but imagine who he could be. He looked a lot like her father from that distance, despite the dark hair, she thought. Perhaps he was a cousin, she had wondered when she saw him walking down Magnolia Crescent. Her gaze was trained on him, and she did not see Delilah come up behind her.

In an instant, her gaze on the stranger was broken as she was shoved off her swing with a small cry. Charlotte stood delicately, turning to face her cousin, but unsure of what to do. Her wand was in her cupboard, and she had no way to defend herself against the heavyset girl. Delilah just stood smirking, taking a bite from a Whatchamacallit.

"Why are you even here freak? Don't your freaky friends even want you?" Whenever Delilah would say that, Charlotte wanted so badly to cry, but she did not. She couldn't. Honestly, she was aware, truly aware, of what her friends thought. They thought she was way too emotional, but, because she was She-Who-Survived, they stayed with her. She was so desperate for friends that she didn't even mind.

"Excuse me," the low voice with a slight hint at an American accent caused both Charlotte and Delilah to jump. The stranger who had, just five seconds ago, been half a block down, was suddenly just next to Charlotte, looking as if he had walked over calmly. She could tell he was definitely 18 now, maybe 19, recently out of Secondary School, and probably a private boarding school from his nice clothing, though, if the silver earring (in the odd shape of a triangle containing a circle and a vertical line) in his left ear was anything to go by, he can't've gone to one that was too prestigious.

"You're excused," Delilah said quickly, trying to be clever. It wasn't working.

"Good to know," Dismissed the man. He turned to me, sticking out his hand. "Evan Pronghorn."

"Charlotte Potter," the green eyed girl took his hand nervously, marveling at the young man before her. He really did look a lot like her father, though his eyes were a vibrant Evans-green flecked with violet oddly enough, his hair was as dark as that of her mother, and his chin wasn't as square as her father's. His features, in general, were much softer than those of Lukas Evans, his hair grown out below his chin, but obviously messy, accentuating his near-effeminate features.

She wasn't tricked of course, but the disguise was impressive. The similarities were glaring from a distance, but up close this guy – Evan Pronghorn – was very much different. He looked like perhaps a relation of her mother, but the few similarities were his hair, pitch black and messed – and as his physique was just as lean, his skin the same creamy color. In all honesty, he looked like he could be related to her, though which side he would be from was iffy. There was really little alike between the pair, and yet Charlotte knew they had to be related, if only distantly.

"I rather thought so," he released his grip, turning to Delilah with a look of disdain. "Delilah Dursley, right? I suggest you leave unless you want me to inform your father of exactly _who_ stole his new car and took it for a joy ride a couple weeks ago, hm?"

The brown-haired girl had paled instantly, backing away several steps before turning to run off, in search of her "friends", who were really girls too afraid of Dudley's wrath to deny to pudgy girl. Charlotte smiled faintly, but stopped. No one outside of Delilah and herself knew about the car incident. How could this man know? Was he some sort of wizarding-stalker that wanted to corner her alone? Were Voldemort's followers spying on her house? Was he a mind reader maybe?

"Well, now that your corpulent cousin has been put in her place," Evan – if that was his real name – rolled his eyes, Charlotte noticed as she kept a steady eye trained on him, "I can get down to business, hm? Right, well, my name is Evan Pronghorn; I'm a cousin on your father's side, magical of course. Your grandfather Edmund had a younger, magical sister, Lily, who married into the Pronghorn family. They had me, and then they died.

"Essentially, now I'm of age, in ways both magical and muggle, I came to take you into my custody. I'm financially sound, so I won't be trying to dip into the Potter fortune through guardianship. In fact, I intend to get you emancipated, as my cousin Lukas' will states was to happen when you turned eleven, if you couldn't be placed under the custody of any of your chosen guardians. Obviously, the Dursleys were on the 'no way in hell' list, which included several death eaters. My parents were on the good list, but died before your own, so I'm afraid that never happened. I'm sure you already know about Black being your godfather, so I won't even go into that. The others on that list were Remus Lupin, who fought old Dumbles tooth and nail to even see you once, you should know, Peter Pettigrew, who I hope to find in Azkaban some time in the future, preferably soulless, or the Longbottoms, though why they can't I am not at liberty to inform you."

"So basically, you're my cousin, you don't like Dumbledore, you _know_ about Sirius being innocent... and you want to adopt me?" Charlotte was extremely hopeful he would be telling the truth, but knew, in her heart, that he couldn't be. If she had had any family other than the Dursleys, she would not be with the magic-hating menaces. And how could he know of Sirius' innocence without being a death eater, or present that night? If he had known before, why wouldn't he have reported it to the ministry? Fishy.

As she thought this, Evan's face broke into a grin. "Good, you already know not to trust anyone who helps you," He was positively beaming, eyes twinkling in a near Dumbledore-esque fashion. "Much better than I was expecting really. If you had believed me, I'd have to wonder after your sanity. Living as you have, first betrayed by you family, then a Professor that wanted to kill you, a diary, and then by your friend's pet rat. Good to know you can learn the good old muggle lesson to 'never judge a book by its cover', hm? Couldn't have hoped for more, really."

"Oh, so I'm right in my suspicions?" He was batty, Charlotte was sure now. Congratulating her on not trusting strange men? Of course, she really couldn't say he didn't have a point. When she was eleven she'd trusted Hagrid just because he claimed to have known her parents. At twelve, she trusted a diary she'd seen floating in a toilet, and the year just past she trusted that Hogwarts was safe, when the rat that had done it all was sleeping in her dorm! She could only imagine the perving he could have done in a girls' dormitory. The very idea made her want to throw up. She needed what little nutrients she got over the summer though, and couldn't afford to blow chunks.

"Only some, if any, I assure you," Evan pointed to the blank skin on his arm, "I'm not a servant of Lord Voldemuffins – " He paused to smirk as Charlotte gagged. That moniker for Voldemort was outrageous! She'd have to tell the twins about it, if only so that they would be able to say "flight from muffins" in regard to the Dark Lord. " – Nor do I sympathize with him in the least. I couldn't report that your godfather was innocent because I didn't know until about when you did, nor would I have been able to locate Pettigrew, so I really can't take the blame for that. Crouch, Sr. was in charge of that one, so be sure to give him hell should you ever meet him."

_He's mental,_ Charlotte decided after a moment. _And it's a bad disguise. He looks more like Mum than Dad... except..._ She paused her thoughts, appraising him again. It wasn't so hard to believe he was who he said. His eyes were certainly the Evans eyes, even with the violet flecks, and she recalled his chin from an old photo-book of Aunt Petunia's. In fact, he really did look like he had descended from the Evans family. Perhaps the Pronghorns had just been distant cousins of the Potters or something?

"Anyway," Evan continued, "I don't want to adopt you. Guardianship at the most, I promise. I'm only four years older than you after all, and like I said, I intend to get you emancipated. Besides, if I adopted you, that would make me your father, an awkward undertaking in that I'll be doing my seventh year this up and coming. That would just be odd now, hm? No, I'm just offering you a place to stay where you would be ten times as safe as here, a place to call home so long as you do so wish."

"I... well, I suppose?" Charlotte was completely flustered now. He seemed genuinely concerned! It was so odd to meet someone outside of Hagrid who actually cared about her. "How exactly do you expect to get by Dumbledore?"

"If he tries to say I can't do this, I'll show the wizarding world that he circumvented your parents' will, going directly against it, and allowing Sirius to go to Azkaban without trial despite knowing the man was innocent. Because he did, he knew. Sirius just thought that Dumbledore didn't know, but the man has spies everywhere, like Mrs. Figg – she's a squib by the way - who is currently standing by the swings to get one of her cats. She thinks I'm giving you tips on how to keep your cousins from bothering you, mind. Another is Professor Snape, who watches the Slytherins mostly, and Hagrid, though the man doesn't mean it, I assure you. Anyway, if I threaten to bring that up, he'd not dare, and he won't know until you're emancipated anyway.

"Of course, you'll never have to see Patricia and Vernon ever again, and any cases you wish to put against them will be finally able to make it to the courts. With Dumbles out of the picture, and you emancipated, you'd be free to actually be able to contact whomever you please. 'Course, even if you don't accept, I'll scare the Dursleys so badly they'll want to move to Finland in case whatever they do makes me angry. They wouldn't like me when I'm angry..." He smirked again, his skin turning bright green for a half second, before he quit it. "Always wondered what would happen if I went all Hulk on someone..."

_He at the very least knows something of muggles, if he knows about the Hulk,_ Charlotte reasoned. _No stalker-wizard or follower of Voldemort would bother trying to trick me with learning something muggle, or so randomly... right?_ It gave her a slight head ache to manage the process, but Charlotte had soon decided.

"I suppose it wouldn't kill me to go with you..." She kept a wary eye on Evan, but he just smiled.

"Cool. So, since the Dursleys never adopted you, or even took legal guardianship, we can just go grab your things and take off. Emancipation will come tomorrow, after you get settled in," He seemed to nod to himself. "Being emancipated means you can do magic outside school, so if you want to know anything about magic – whether it's transfigurations, charms, defense, whatever! – I can teach you over the holidays if you like. Piece of cake."

Charlotte could only nod, and Evan broke into a smile, gripped her shoulder, and suddenly the pair vanished with a nearly inaudible "pop!". Charlotte felt as though she was being squeezed through an airless tube, only noticing as they reappeared in front of Number 4 Privet Drive because she could feel a breeze. They both looked a little green.

"That was Apparition," Evan grimaced. "The most uncomfortable of the magical teleportation styles. Portkeys can break an ankle, and during floo travel you can die of smoke inhalation. 'Beam me up Scotty?' Psh... give me a broom any day..." Evan shook his head with a sigh and rang the doorbell. A half second later there was a shrill cry.

"Just a moment!" Called Patricia Dursley as she stampeded to the door. The thick woman opened the door, strawberry blonde hair in a bun with a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Her jaw was partially horse-like, but still attractive. She gazed down at Charlotte as she stood by Evan's side and pursed her lips. "Oh, was she bothering you? I'm _terribly_ sorry. The girl's a bit of a delinquent I'm afraid, takes after her parents like that..."

"Not at all Mrs. Dursley," Evan shook his head, smirking. "Actually, I came to collect her. It's been deemed unsafe to have her here, so I'm taking custody. She'll be far safer with me anyway. You see, I'm your Aunt Lily's son, so the blood wards will work just fine at my home, quite a lot better really, as it's a place that Charlotte can willingly call home instead of your prim and proper prison. We will be no more than ten minutes getting her things, and then you will never see her again. Get it?" Patricia nodded. "Good. Come on Charlotte, let's grab your things then."

Evan rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and dropped his hand again. Charlotte led the way into the house and to her cupboard. She had always though that, maybe, if she'd had only one cousin she'd have her own room instead of just the cupboard, at least after the Dursleys had found out she knew what she was, but they had Delilah and Dudley, and the guest room was too nice for her.

When she opened it to reveal her trunk laid on the floor under the cot, and with the Hoover next to said cot, she looked up and saw Evan's eyes narrow. He looked ready to kill.

"Mrs. Dursley, you can expect a court call very soon, for purposeful neglect at the very least," He said coolly, trembling as he restrained himself. Charlotte felt a soft feeling growing in her stomach. He actually cared about her! He was angry on her behalf! She felt warm on this overcast summer's day.

The trunk was slung over Evan's shoulder before Charlotte even had time to blink, and blink she did. Her supposed second-cousin was much stronger than he looked! The fact that he was hardly even 5' 9" and quite lean made her quite surprised to see that he was strong enough to lift her trunk like that. Not even her crush, Oliver Wood, could do that, and he was pretty well built!

"Good bye Mrs. Dursley, we'll owl you with the court date," Evan called over his shoulder. "And don't bother with a muggle solicitor; we're taking this straight to the Wizengamot. In all likelihood, you and your husband will spend sometime in Azkaban. Dumbledore can't protect you anymore."

When the pair was in the parlor, Evan dropped the trunk to the ground, putting a dent in the floor, before shrinking it and putting it in Charlotte's hand. She stuffed it in her pocket as he grabbed her upper arm, smirked maliciously at Aunt Patricia, and Disapparated with She-Who-Survived in tow.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

Life was good. Harry Potter had killed the Dark Lord, obtained the Deathly Hollows. At least, life had been good, until the infamous doom's day, the last day of exams (though the Golden Trio, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter, didn't participate, as they were going to finish their schooling the year up and coming) came, and the back up plan, whatever it had been, of Voldemort struck.

Hogwarts was decimated that evening. The Boy-Who-Lived had been getting butterbeers and firewhiskey for everyone to celebrate the end of the exams, and the castle just... vanished. Nothing else, it vanished. It took most of the people he cared about with it. And, to add salt to the wound, Dumbledore's portrait and Fawkes came. He knew, the entire time, what was to happen, and had called Fawkes to bring his portrait to the boy instead of saving the hundreds of students and the few guests who had come to celebrate with them! Needless to say, Harry had been outraged.

Still, Dumbledore gave him useful information, not that he would trust the old coot. Dumbledore told him of a ritual, had Fawkes pull the formulas out of an extra-dimensional pocket (which seemed odd at first, but then he realized it was par for the course – the "light" creature seemed capable of anything), and expected Harry to play the Gryffindor and not bother finding out what it was. Even if he was mourning his suddenly-dead friends, he wasn't stupid, not after everything. He read the notes, collected his money from Gringotts (finding in the process that he actually had a second vault that contained heirlooms, his mum's old journals, a lot more money than he thought he had, and a portrait of the marauders and his mum that just so happened to have Wormtail hogtied), made sure that his trunk, which he had worn in his pouch (that he'd received for his birthday from Hagrid) for the past year – Hermione had insisted he keep his personal things safe since they couldn't depend on her _never_ losing the bottomless-bag – was still full of his things, and did the ritual. Harry Potter wasn't as lost as Dumbledore wanted him to be.

He bought a house as soon as he arrived, a nice one in the country, three stories and a pleasant interior, and a few acres that he promptly filled with trees, a large pond, and a few animals. It was under the Fidelius soon as well – the charm was surprisingly easy to perform. Harry had had home set up before June was even over, and he was able to sit and find out more about his situation, where exactly the ritual had sent him, and what he probably would have to do there.

The dates corresponded, except that it was four years prior to his leaving. Harry had known that would be the case though; the ritual required a 3-7 year slip back in time to cross dimensions, to "move diagonally through time", which was really just a cross through 6 dimensions: front, back: left, right: up, down: time: space: reality. He chose four, because that was when the Triwizard Tournament was to take place. The "Harry" of this world, whom he found was a _she_ named Charlotte, would need more help this year than others, and he could save Cedric. If Harry could enter in the Hufflepuff's place, then Cedric wouldn't die. He had it all planned out, and even sent an admissions note to Dumbledore with his grades, misdemeanors, and medical record, (after some doctoring of names, dates, etc.) which had somehow found their way into the trunk. Harry suspected foul play on Dumbledore's part again.

_'To Whom It May Concern,_

_My name is Evan Romulus Grimm Pronghorn. I would like admission into Hogwarts for my final year, as I haven't really had the chance to do so until now. I am 17 years old, 18 by the time school will start, and an American._

_I can give you a brief summary of my life to go on. My parents, Lily and James Pronghorn, died when I was a child, and I went to live with my aunt Petunia, on my father's side, a squib who didn't like magic at all. My mother was a muggleborn which, Lily Marie Evans, though that's really all I know about her, and that I am the last of the Pronghorn line. My aunt died in May, with my uncle and cousin, in a car crash, ironic in that this is how I was told my own parents died before I started to learn magic._

_I was home schooled by an ex-Professor who, upon finding I was magic (and that my aunt wouldn't pay for school) taught me. He set me up to take my tests and everything. As you will tell from my scores, I specialize in Defense, and I would like to Apprentice in the subject, perhaps even teach it, when I am graduated, eventually._

_As is, my family is all dead, to my knowledge, and my teacher died last year of a muggle disease, Cancer, which, being uncommon in magical folk, has no cure muggle or magical. His death and my mourning period being my reason for not attending any Ministry sanctioned schools this past year. So I am in need of a way to continue my education. I heard that my mother attended Hogwarts, and having read her journals, I thought England might be the ideal place to continue my studies._

_All of my grades, medical records, and misdemeanors (ranging from setting a firecracker in my teacher's cauldron to breaking curfew in my town) are in the packet enclosed, as well as all information needed for enrollment. Hopefully, you shall let me attend, but if not, I'm sure that Beauxbatons wouldn't be too bad._

_Sincerely,_

_Evan R. G. Pronghorn'_

The fake history corresponded well enough with this world, as in both this reality and his own he had a great aunt Lily; in his own "dimension" his mother had been named for the ostracized witch in the long squib line, Lily's grandfather's jealousy that his daughter should be the magic bearer of that generation not daunting the protective older brother that went on to name his first daughter for her. No one would think twice about the combination of "Lily and James" because they never existed. In this world it had been "Lukas and Josephine", or, more commonly, "Luke and Josey Evans", the parents of Charlotte Potter (for, it seemed, Potter was a matrilineal name).

Harry – now Evan – had been accepted too, after he performed a quick ritual to change his name, magically, so that he wouldn't have to worry about magical scanning devices, such as the Marauders' Map, from showing he was not, in fact, Evan Pronghorn. He had an entire life set up by the end of July, and he was ready to complete his initial plans. He apparated to Little Whinging, deciding to try the park on Magnolia Crescent before the Dursleys' actual house. That was where he had usually spent summer days, if only to be in public when Dudley went to hit him.

He saw her immediately. It wasn't because she looked anything like him really. Charlotte Potter had dark auburn hair, or, more accurately, black hair that looked red under the sunlight, and she had the Evans eyes. Her skin was pale, she looked ill, obviously underfed. His opportunity to approach came sooner than expected as a fat girl whose name he gleaned (using his very shoddy legilimancy "skills") was Delilah Dursley shoved her over and taunted.

He apparated to Charlotte's side, glad that the only muggle too close by was one familiar with magic. "Excuse me," Evan said as he appeared. The fat girl looked ready to jump out of her skin!

"You're excused," she replied snootily after she had collected herself. Evan smirked lightly as Charlotte watched our interplay. Oh, this would be fun. Just because he had made peace with Dudley (not that they really had, he'd really just shaken Harry's hand saying good bye; he hadn't really apologized, and even if he had, after everything he'd done it wouldn't have been enough) didn't mean Evan couldn't pick on his counterpart.

He made quick work of the girl, sending her off so she wouldn't dare make mention of him to her parents, and turned to Charlotte, quickly feeding her the made up story. She didn't quite believe it, and Evan felt proud, but sad. She was four years younger than he was, and he had been more trusting than her until the end of the year she was about to go into. What had she gone through he had not that made her so wary? While it was good she was (CONSTANT VIGILANCE!), it was sad that she had to be.

It took about five to ten minutes before she had decided Evan was safer than the Dursleys, and he apparated her to Privet Drive. Patricia Dursley was a tall woman, the same height as Evan (a not-so-intimidating 5' 9") and rather round. No fat per say, but she could do to lose some weight, if fashion magazines were anything to go by. Or perhaps she merely seemed large next to Charlotte. The ensuing conversation was enlightening, and the introduction to Charlotte's "room", the same cupboard Evan had spent ten years in, taught him quite a lot about the family.

After promises of legal retribution, they left, and he apparated them through the wards on his – hopefully _their_ – home. Evan turned to his female counterpart and gestured she sit. She did.

"This is my home," he started, "I've got several names going for it right now, from 'Antler Cottage' – that's a pun on my surname – to just 'Pronghorn Homestead', and there were some outrageous ideas that popped in randomly, but I can't think of anything really good yet. Until then the floo is the house address, which, unless I personally tell someone, means they can't come because I've got the Fidelius charm on the entire property, which is about six or seven acres – can't really remember. There are three aurors and one of the Hogwarts professors in the know, as is legally necessary, as well as the three house elves on staff and the farm hands I hired that will take care of the animals, and since they're squibs they won't be able to get into the house to kill us in our sleep.

"The address is 27 Appaloosa Drive. We aren't in any town proper, though we're relatively near to Liverpool, I think. If there is anyone else you would like to know the address – friends, classmates, your godfather, teachers aside from Professor McGonagall – just tell me and I will be sure to inform them of the address. You can pick any room you like, bedrooms are on the top floor, and we can hit a muggle furniture store to get you what you need. Do whatever you like with it, really.

"The house has three levels, not counting the kitchen, potions lab, and wash room at the bottom. The first floor has the parlor, a living room, game room, dining room, a bathroom, and my personal study, which is where I lock all of my books that I'd rather you not look into. If possible, _knock_ before entering. The second level is all bedrooms, eight of them, since I expect when I get to know people in the country I'll be having guests at times, and your own would be welcome as well. The one the closest to the stairwell is mine, so that if there is an intruder I can slip downstairs to nip them in the bud before they can do any damage, and before you decide to get them on your own. The other six are guest rooms, or can be permanent rooms if we ever take on any other misfits. The top is a library on one half, and the other is divided into a study area and an arts area, for music, visual, or even dancing, if that's the sort of thing you're into. I honestly just couldn't think of anything else to do with it. The owlery is up there too.

"One more thing to mention though," Evan smiled softly. "You are more than welcome to invite your godfather to stay here. He will be safe, be able to eat properly – I highly doubt being on the run allows him proper nutrition after all – and I'm sure you'll be glad to have him about if I somehow turn out to be a creep. Besides, the man has a reputation as a prankster. I'm sure he'll be able to help liven this place up a bit."

Charlotte seemed speechless, until her face broke into a broad grin. The entire explanation had been a bit long winded, and there was sure to be some issues later, but for now it seemed that the girl was pleased with everything her "cousin" had said. Perhaps extending his hospitality to Sirius as well had greased the wheels a bit, but that was fine by his book. So long as Charlotte was willing to stay and have an easier life, a safer life, than before, he was happy.

"Can I owl him right now?" She asked excitedly. Evan smiled.

"Of course. Your owl should be to the owlery by now. He's quite smart," he informed her, standing to lead her to where the owls were. "If not, feel free to use my snowy owl. Her name is Hedwig, and she can find anyone in the world, though if Black is half as smart as I think, he'll be country hopping for a while, letting himself be seen in random countries, far from Hogwarts." Evan smiled lazily as he escorted his cousin, knowing it was precisely what the animagus was planning to do. "I'll give you a formal tour and show you the grounds. The animals right now is pretty much just a couple of horses, two owls – not counting yours – and a few chickens, but once I can figure out how to make a magical enclosure – I'm seeing to that tomorrow – I'll look into getting hippogriffs or something. The area above the woods is perfect for Quidditch, a lot harder to spot a snitch there... You do fly, right?"

"Yeah, I'm the reserve Chaser, though I'm actually a lot better at Keeping," Charlotte explained as Evan led her up the staircase and to the level containing the owlery. "I'm going to be trying for Wood's spot this year, but I dunno if I'll get it. Cormac McLaggen – he's a year above me – is supposed to be pretty good at Keeping."

"Probably just a braggart," he assured her, recalling the boy and what had been infamously dubbed "the bludger incident" before Hogwarts blew up... or whatever it did. "Though this year that won't be happening. I have a couple of ins at the Ministry, and apparently there's to be a bigger competition this year. A tournament for any students seventeen or older from Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts. If they're picked that is. No Quidditch unfortunately, though I wouldn't be surprised if someone started an unofficial league between schools during the Tournament."

"Tournament? What contest would have...? Oh!" Charlotte stopped in her tracks, about five feet away from the owlery door. "The Tri-Wizard Tournament!" Evan was shocked. How could she know about it? He voiced the question. "One of the boys in my year, Hayden Granger, is a bit obsessed with 'Hogwarts: A History'. He talks to anyone about that book, and I'm a frequent victim."

"Ah," he shrugged. Figures that the Hermione of this place would be just as obsessed with that book in particular. "Well, here's the owlery," Evan opened the door, which released a small amount of rotting-mouse-carcass stench before there was a hoot and two owls flew out. Hedwig, a newly purchased and fairly younger snowy owl than his own, dead companion, and a noble looking male snowy, Charlotte's "Arcturus", named for King Arthur. Evan had the feeling the pair had been flirting.

While Charlotte cooed over the pair (it was amazing how she had gone from terribly suspicious and meek to excited and happy in ten minutes) Evan set to writing the letter to Sirius.

_'Snuffles Zwart,_

_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. I hope this gets rid of some suspicions at least. I figured it wouldn't be safe to owl you using your real name, in case this were intercepted, so I came up with a nickname for you. I hope you approve. The second bit is Dutch, if you were wondering._

_My name is Evan Pronghorn, I'm an American wizard. My mother was Lukas Evans' aunt Lily, and now I'm of age, I have taken your goddaughter under my care. I don't know what she will write to tell you, but I'm going to say what I can._

_First is this: do not trust Albus Dumbledore. I've seen a letter that my mother received from Lukas, telling of the switch, not long before both pairs died. While your friends believed that the meddling old bumblebee was best left out of it – which they were right to do – my mother didn't share the sentiments. She told Dumbledore that it was Pettigrew who was the secret keeper a month before she died – three months before your friends, my cousins, died. He knew, Snuffles, and he let you rot in Azkaban to keep you from Charlotte._

_My second statement is that I wish to welcome you into my home, __27 Appaloosa Drive__. Enclosed is a Portkey, as it is difficult to find, Fidelius charm or no. Only the bare minimum of people know about it, I assure you. Among them are Aurors Tonks (your cousin), Shacklebolt (a very trustworthy man), and ex-Auror Moody (who tried to get you a trial, I think you'll be glad to know), as well as Professor Minerva McGonagall and the squib groundskeepers. You are more than welcome to live here, from how Charlotte reacted, I'm positive she would love to get to know you better. You've hardly spent more than an hour together after all._

_I've charmed this letter to be readable only by a true marauder, and if Pettigrew were to so much as touch this thing, his hands would burn off. I am sending a similar missive with my own owl to Mr. Moony, as I'm sure he, as another friend of Charlotte's parents, should be included in this undertaking. I expect you to bring any of your belongings and Charlotte's dear Arcturus with you on the Portkey._

_Mischief Managed,_

_Evan R. G. Pronghorn'_

Evan picked up a simple stone from the floor, turned it purple, and muttered "_Portus_" over it, setting it to activate as soon as someone who knew his address were to touch it. Being around just Hermione for several months had been useful, even if it resulted in his wand getting severed by her misaimed cutting hex.

"I've written my letter to Mr. Black," he informed Charlotte. In her hand was a hastily written note as well. "Send them both along with Arcturus. The stone in the bag," Evan indicated the Ziploc that contained the purple Portkey, "will bring your godfather to the parlor when he touches it, but only after he reads my letter. I am sending one out to Mr. Lupin, so that he knows where to contact you and his friend, if nothing else."

"Right," Charlotte nodded hastily, tying both letters together with a ribbon from the corner and giving them to her owl. "Take these to Sirius. I'll see you soon, okay?" The owl hooted in recognition, nipped her ear, and flew off as Evan wrote down an annotated version of his letter to Remus and sent it away with Hedwig.

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It was three days later that Charlotte received her first letter of the summer at the newly named Stag's Sanctuary. It was a simple note from Rhianna Prewett, a rather shallow, sport (and the boys that played them) obsessed girl. Remus had dropped in that day, having been dragged to a muggle shop by Charlotte to fill his "guest" room (for Evan suspected that he would be staying much more often than he said) properly with furniture and what not the day before. So, naturally, he had stayed the night, hoping Sirius would use the Portkey today and he could greet him.

It was at breakfast that an owl, looking suspiciously like Pigwideon, Ron's owl from Evan's original dimension-y... thing, carrying a letter on nice parchment with pretty, glittery purple ink. The fist-sized owl landed next to Charlotte's plate, and was hopping around excitedly in her eggs until the letter was removed before he started flying in circles. His personality was exactly the same as in the other dimension.

"Evan," Charlotte began with a questioning tone, "can I go to the Quidditch World Cup with the Prewetts? It's Wales against Brazil, two of the best teams out there you know, and it's the biggest game of the decade. They've even got box seats..." She trailed off, sending her "cousin" a hopeful look. Evan grinned back, amused with the query. He'd rather she not get too involved with the Ron of here, but she would realize in her own time just who her true friends were. This Rhianna was not among them.

"How quickly you've forgotten, young Cheri!" This was his new nickname for Charlotte, Cheri (pronounced like the fruit of course), because her given name was awfully formal, and the nicknames for it were rather lacking. So, Cheri she was. "What did we do two days ago?"

"We went to the Ministry and – but what does me being emancipated have to do with anything?" She asked, confused. "I can do spells on my own and go for an apprenticeship... but there really isn't much else. Since I'm not actually of age I can't drink or apparate..." Charlotte continued thinking, and Evan kept smiling. Really, he would have done the same thing, not thinking of the truly big picture. Although he might not have thought about the drinking aspect at her age, but oh well.

"You don't have to ask permission for these things," Evan expounded, "so I guess Remus, Sirius, and I will see you at the cup... though Sirius will be under Polyjuice..." he paused. "Still have to collect hairs for him. Can't have him running around looking exactly like someone else after all. Anyway, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Just keep your wand in hand. There are a lot of people with sticky hands at big things like that. You wouldn't want it to get jacked, hm?"

Remus, of course, had sat bolt upright when Evan mentioned him going to the cup. "I couldn't... I mean, they don't..." He paused. He hadn't told the young man that he was a werewolf, and Charlotte hadn't obviously (Evan would know), as her eyes grew wide as the lycanthrope tried to find the words to say.

"Not at all Remus," Evan waved him off. "Even if the game were to last the six days between the start and the moon, I keep a stock of all sorts of potions downstairs in the labs, Wolfsbane included." Remus jumped a bit, and Charlotte looked terribly surprised. "I like to be prepared. After all, if Cheri were bit and didn't want to tell me at first, I've got about... two years' supply down there in the storage cupboards, and they'd keep for at least a decade. I spent most of my first month in country decorating the house and brewing potions actually, so we're set with everything really, including your nutrition potions Cheri." He gave her a stern look. For the past few days she had been on a nutrition potion, some with every meal, to make up for the malnutrition with the Dursleys. It would take until just after Halloween before she was where she ought to be, Evan was pretty sure.

The girl in question blushed a bit and downed the phial of potion that sat next to her orange juice, grimacing at the taste. It tasted even worse than Skele-gro, but it was the fastest stuff out there. By the time Hermione had found out about it, it was too late for Evan as he had already hit his "big" growth spurt that really only barely boosted him from a rather pathetic 5'3" to a still short 5'8", though he had gained an inch the past year because of the potion, since he'd caught the tail end of the spurt. He was pretty sure they had caught Charlotte right at the start, so she would be healthy.

"There," Evan smirked. "Now then, send your reply on with that... very tiny owl," he made a show of giving it an incredulous look, "and finish your food, or the other way around. Just remember, if, at any time, you want to be with us three, I have a spare tent for the night, and a spare ticket for the game. If you're uncomfortable, suspicious, scared, whatever, just come see us, hm? And tell her not to write the muggles, you can get to their house on your own."

He smiled and left the dining room, heading out to the parlor. Both people that he left behind were at least slightly flabbergasted, and were talking in hushed tones as to "how in Merlin's name Evan could possibly have figured that out after a day!" They didn't even mention that he had anticipated it, by making so much Wolfsbane. In a tongue-in-cheek way, he wondered if people would start to think he was some sort of Seer. It would make a nice cover though.

He started thinking he really might be, as the moment he entered the parlor a rather ragged and wary Sirius Black appeared, bearing the purple stone in his left palm. His wand was up immediately, pointing at Evan. Sirius looked just how The-Boy-Who-Lived remembered from after his third year. His beard was trimmed, his hair properly washed, and while he certainly seemed to have been roughing it, it wasn't so bad as when he had been living off of rats. Evan just smiled brightly at him, took his wand from its holster, put it on the ground, and thrust out his hand to shake.

"Evan Pronghorn," he introduced. Sirius took the proffered hand tentatively, and they shook. "Right then. Remus! Cheri! Sirius is here!" There was a loud clatter as two sets of footsteps came down the hard wood hallway. Two blurs came one after the other, and Sirius was on the ground being hugged. Evan had to fight to keep from bursting out laughing. He smiled at the ecstatic reunion, rather wishing he could do the same. Obviously, he could not.

"Welcome to the Stag's Sanctuary, Mister Black. We are located at 27 Appaloosa Drive, kept under the Fidelius charm, and you are now one of very few who know the location of this home. The others, as the letter stated, are Alastor Moody, who has been briefed about your situation. Like I said, he tried to press Crouch for a trial. Then there's your cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, who is quite eager to see you again, Kingsley Shacklebolt – he _is_ trustworthy, don't worry – and Minerva McGonagall. As she was the only member of the staff Dumbledore told about you, I figured it wouldn't hurt, since it's a member of staff had to know where Cheri and I live since we'll both be attending the school this up and coming term.

"Remus can give you a tour, and when it comes time to furnish your room I have some Polyjuice in the lab. We're leaving on the 14th for the Quidditch cup, and I've got a nice supply of the stuff for you to come as well. You are welcome to stay here as long as you like, and I've set up a Portkey system throughout the house. Each room has at least five Portkeys, eternal two ways, so if you feel the overwhelming need to go to Hogwarts or something, you may. If Cheri wants to visit you, I've already given her a Portkey that will take her to and from her room here to wherever she set out from, calibrated to slip by any wards... though it wouldn't be undetectable, unfortunately, so the Hogwarts option probably isn't a great idea. Any questions?"

Sirius had, by this time, managed to get out of the hugs from his friend and goddaughter. He was standing again, still ill at ease, but calmed by the presence of the two. However, Remus was the one to ask a question.

"Why? Why are you so kind about all of this?" The lycanthrope asked. He seemed quite confused. Of course he would be! After all, he was an impoverished werewolf who no one would hire. Evan was being more compassionate than Dumbledore had been. The Headmaster who let him into Hogwarts hadn't even brought him in as a full time member of the Order like the Evanses and Sirius had been. Yet, here this stranger was, bringing him into his home, with open arms, and even while somehow knowing him to be a werewolf. Honestly, Evan would have been suspicious in his shoes too.

"Well, if you're referring to the situation with Mr. Black here – is it okay if I call you Sirius? – it's because an innocent man shouldn't have to be on the run with a hippogriff... he was brought to the paddock by the way, when you touched the stone," Evan explained. "If it's about you and your lycanthropy, well, why should I hate or fear a man because he turns into a slightly larger wolf once in a while? Besides, I already told you I keep a hefty supply of Wolfsbane."

"How do you know about that?" Sirius was surprised that his host revealed this. The teen just smiled.

"Same way that I know how you escaped Azkaban, Mr. Padfoot," Evan grinned, "same way I know about a lot of things really. It's a gift... and much more reliable than Dumbledore's supposed omniscience. The man knows many things he shouldn't, but it didn't stop him from letting you go to Azkaban without a trial. Nor did it stop him from letting Charlotte's parents, not to mention my own, die, when he knew all along the exact dates Voldemort was planning to for the Evanses and Pronghorns."

There was a moment of silence. "Dumbledore really did know?" Charlotte asked. "He knew about Wormtail and the swap?"

"Of course he did," Evan replied with a scoffing noise. It was the truth, too. Dumbledore had admitted to it in portrait form. He also admitted that Fawkes was only bound to him because he had been his father's, and as the eldest son he was the one to get the familiar bond, because the Phoenix really couldn't be with his human in Azkaban, now could he? Dumbledore had known about the attack on his mother's aunt, who had existed in his realm as well, and was his mother's namesake. However, after Hogwarts, the woman had moved to the states, and only Lily (or Lukas in this place) Evans knew what had happened to her beyond that. Dumbledore only knew they were in frequent enough contact that she had been informed. Indeed, he had admitted to knowing the date of the Potter attack, and that Voldemort was after his great aunt as well. The man's manipulations were horrifying.

After further discussion (mostly just comments and shouting of "He knew! That bastard knew!") the quartet adjourned to the breakfast table. Shorty – one of the house elves – reheated the food and everyone sat down to finish breakfast. Charlotte finished her eggs slowly (not the ones that Pigwideon had been hopping in of course), smirking at the sight of her godfather – and Evan's own technically – wolfing down a rasher of bacon. It was mildly entertaining, though it occurred to Evan that he would have to go into town later in the day to buy more bacon for tomorrow's breakfast. Eggs too, as the chickens weren't old enough to start laying just yet.

The day was spent mostly getting Sirius settled, taking him clothes and furniture shopping while Polyjuiced to a body the same height and build as his own (Evan had to spend an hour elsewhere trying to find the right body type before he could go). He was soon set, and Remus was "coerced" into staying the night, though Evan was rather shocked to hear Sirius whining about the two having to have separate rooms. It was rather disturbing to find out one's godfather was actually the lover of the person who named you their child's godfather... but then, it was an alternate reality. If Grindelwald could reciprocate Dumbledore's feelings, who's to say that Sirius and Remus couldn't have a different orientation too? It was still a bit of a shock though.

The week came to a swift end, a routine setting in quickly as everyone settled. Remus stayed almost every night, alternating between sleeping in his own room (where he was often joined by Sirius unless he locked the door), and sleeping in Sirius'. Charlotte took her three potions a day, and even after just a few days she was doing much better. Evan was usually buzzing about setting up for Buckbeak, making at least a few of the house's Portkeys legal, and many other things. Everyone kept busy, and they all had time for Charlotte. It was rather nice, really, having a family.

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**A/n: Yes, that's the first chapter of Nunquam Somnus. Hope you liked it :)**

**Kinda everywhere at the mo', but further in it'll be easier to understand, all right? I write what I like, and anything not canon? Well, I don't give a shit. Take care!**

**Edit: made fully third person. See Author's note 7 if you care why. You probably don't though since it's obvious.**


	2. Quidditch Catastrophe

Nunquam Somnus: Never Sleep

**Words: 9,401**

**Disclaimer: Own not, profit not. If you recognize it, darn good chance it isn't mine. Not for the closed minded. And it's only as canon as I want it to be. So nyah. Spoilers from all seven books, plus made up stuff where I don't like what they have. A bit of a "Super Harry" fic, in that he is competent. And yes, I am very much female.**

**Warnings: Spoilers from all books. DH and HBP ignored sometimes (such as in the cases of the Happily Ever After, Harry not taking the Elder Wand, he actually learned how to do wards and stuff from Hermione (as in not dumb enough to think that there was no chance she could die/get hurt while he was still alive), he's competent, etc). Dumbledore and Prewett/Weasley bashing. Mixed up genders. Mentions of child abuse and sexual abuse. Extra characters, mainly minor. Some characters have different names. May be more warnings in later chapters. Impolite language. Same sex pairings.**

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_Chapter 2: Quidditch Catastrophe_

"_I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge - myth is more potent than history - dreams are more powerful than facts - hope always triumphs over experience - laughter is the cure for grief - love is stronger than death." Robert Fulghum_

The day of the cup came on swift wings. The Prewetts were leaving early that morning, and so Evan made sure to have Charlotte up just before dawn. The night before she had packed her backpack with everything she would need for the trip, so as soon as she had eaten breakfast (Evan had bought cereal for such busy mornings), he had gripped her tightly and apparated to the Prewetts' yard at Ottery St. Catchpole.

They were just heading out when they arrived. Markus Prewett looked rather surprised to see them... or, rather, that Charlotte had someone who apparated her to their yard just as they were leaving for the Portkey. Evan released her arm, and they both waved at the party of redheads. There were five Prewetts there – the twins, Samson and Aaron, Charlotte's tag-along Rhianna, Alexander, the youngest, and the paternal unit, Markus – as well as a boy with curly dirty blonde hair and slightly-too-big front teeth, Hayden Granger.

"'Lo there," Evan had a large grin on his face as he walked forward, Charlotte at his side. "Sorry if Charlotte's late, I was a bit long on getting breakfast to the table. Evan Pronghorn," he shook Mr. Prewett's hand quickly before continuing. "I wanted to make sure she wouldn't get lost in the floo, so I brought her myself." Of course, Charlotte blushed at that comment. How did he always know about those little things? And it had only been the once!

Mr. Prewett was completely flabbergasted, but Evan turned away from him to Charlotte. "Cheri, I expect to see you later today. We'll be coming by to show you where the tents are set up, in case you want to hang out with us old farts," Charlotte snorted lightly at this. He was only 18! Certainly no old fart. "And don't forget to keep your wand where you can reach it, not where a light hand can make a grab. I know for a fact you're sharing a box with the Malfoys, and you never know what they're up to, except that it's devious and underhanded, got it?" Charlotte rolled her eyes, but nodded. He'd gone over all of that multiple times over the past few days. "Good, I'll see you later then."

Evan gave a small salute before apparating away, and then the Prewetts (and Hayden) started questioning Charlotte about him. Of course they would. Maybe they should have just risked her getting lost in the floo!

"Who was that guy?" asked Rhianna, her eyes had a dreamy far away look.

"My cousin Evan," Charlotte responded. "I'm living with him now." It was best to get that out of the way. "He's going to be doing seventh year at Hogwarts this year."

"Really?" Rhianna was looking very excited by the idea, and it took all of Charlotte's self-control not to hit her head on a tree she was passing. Rhianna was more than a bit boy crazy, and it seemed that Evan was the next victim, despite him being several years her senior. It wasn't like he was terribly fit either! He was down right skinny, and not terribly tall. A bit weedy, like Charlotte, really.

"Why didn't he attend before?" asked Hayden, always the logical one. "I thought you only had the two cousins, Dudley and Delilah. I'd think you'd have told us if you had one you actually liked, and who was a wizard."

"He's been stateside," Charlotte informed him evenly. "He lived with a squib aunt on his father's side until June, and he learned magic from a local wizard who died of cancer about a year ago. He didn't look for a new instructor the past year because he was in a state of mourning though, so he's doing seventh year a bit late. And since he's eighteen, and thus old enough to do whatever he likes in the muggle world too, he got a passport and citizenship and moved here to see that I was alright. He's from Dad's side of the family, actually, so he's really Aunt Patricia's cousin, my second cousin, but he's very nice."

There were many similar questions throughout the whole thing. She knew Rhianna really only hung out with her for fame, and to Hayden she was a bit of a research project on the mind of an abused child celebrity or some such, but it was the twins who actually asked the in depth questions. Making sure that Evan was really a decent chap and that he wasn't taking advantage of her in any way (although that would be just wrong, as they were cousins).

It was after half an hour of this questioning that they finally arrived where they ought to, Charlotte being the least winded as she was not only in better shape than the rest (the nutrient potions and a fair bit of exercise over the past two weeks were really improving her health by a lot) but had had the foresight to cast a feather-light charm on her pack... though everyone else thought it was Evan who had done it.

"I found the Portkey!" The voice was familiar, and Charlotte looked about, trying to see who would have called. The party had just reached the crest of the hill, so it was obviously another group. A tall figure, shadowed against the rising sun, came up, obviously holding something.

"Ah! Markus! Good to see you!" Another voice, this one from a man on a broom who drifted up from around a boulder about ten feet away. The man landed by us as the other, who looked about sixteen or seventeen caught up, holding a weathered looking boot. The man was short, his nose too long, and wispy gray hair floated along his scalp.

"Amos, always a pleasure," Markus greeted. "Everyone, this is Amos Diggory, he works with me in the Department for Control of Magical Creatures. Amos, the redheads are mine, Sam and Aaron are the twins, Ria is my daughter, and Alex is the youngest. The other boy is Hayden Granger, and this young lady is –"

"Merlin's beard, you're Charlotte Potter, aren't you?" Mr. Diggory said, looking quite clearly in awe. Soon he'd be all up in it because he'd met Charlotte Potter, She-Who-Survived, she was sure.

"And you're Cedric's dad," she nodded. She knew Cedric, as he was her tutor for Herbology whenever Neville was unavailable. Until Evan, he'd been the closest thing to family for Charlotte, a sort of protective older brother. Cedric was now properly within the reach of the wand light, and he waved slightly from his side of the circle, boot in hand. "'Lo Cedric. How was your summer?"

Somehow, this surprised the Prewetts, that she would call him be his first name, especially Mr. Diggory was surprised. Of course, Cedric and Charlotte were not often seen together, their friendship not being common knowledge so that he could escape the tabloids.

"Alright enough, though you haven't written me as often since your birthday," His smile was playful. "We can talk when everyone's set camp though. Our boot is leaving in a minute, isn't it?" This jarred everyone, and soon the group, grown from seven to nine now, had gathered about the Portkey, crowded a bit because of the bulky backpacks. Charlotte was very much glad that Evan had given her a few practice runs with the Portkeys at home, saying that if she hurt her ankle and had to take a Portkey to St. Mungo's, it would be best not to aggravate it further by landing wrong. Though the training was dull, being transported from room to room in the house and all, she had to admit it was useful.

The first time she had taken a Portkey, her instinct had been to let go as something hooked her navel. The instinct had been so great, that her magic had reacted and she'd been splinched, her torso still in her room while her legs and left hand went into the Library. It had been a highly unnerving situation, though luckily charms were put on all children (even muggles) at birth to keep splinching from causing bleeding of any sort, or pain.

As the ground reappeared underfoot, Charlotte was the only one not already of age to keep standing, which rather impressed everyone, though they waited to comment until the boot was given to the proper authority, and they were told where to go for their campsite. It seemed that Charlotte and Cedric wouldn't have any time to talk, unfortunately.

"Where're you going to be seated?" Charlotte asked. When the reply was given, she smiled. "Alpha-B? That's Evan's section. I might be going there during the game, at least for a bit. If not, I'm sure he won't hesitate to say 'hello'. Evan is my cousin by the way."

With that, they split, going along separate ways to their campsites, the Prewetts being right next to the Apparition point and the woods leading to the Pitch. Directly across the walkway was, surprisingly, Evan, who was pitching a second tent with practiced precision, as though he'd done it a dozen times. Remus and the Polyjuiced Sirius were right in front of said tent making fire the muggle way: with a torch and gasoline.

"Told you we'd see you," Evan called across, without even looking up as he slammed in the last peg. He stood and stretched, his shirt lifting slightly to reveal a completely flat stomach, with only the slightest hint at a muscular structure beneath. With a fleeting glance at his fire builders, Evan walked across the small walkway. "I had our spot reserved for a month now, though I can't say I'm not surprised to see you lot so close by. I take it your Portkey went off without a hitch?"

"Of course," Charlotte replied, moving forward to give her cousin a quick hug. She'd seen him less than an hour before, but it seemed only polite. The gesture was returned, albeit awkwardly. He was, apparently, as unused to affection as she. "How'd you guys beat us here? It's only seven! I honestly can't imagine Cyrus waking up this early."

"The miracle of coffee... and cold water dumped on his head," Evan added with an impish grin while stepping out of the hug. "Cyrus" and Remus walked over, their fire going nicely. No one at the Prewett camp had started yet, obviously curious about the interactions. "Besides, we can apparate, unlike you. I suppose introducing them would be good... well, those of you who went to Hogwarts last year should know Remus Lupin, and this is my friend Cyrus Zwart from Australia. Cyrus, Remus, these are the Prewetts..." he paused a moment, then pointed to a twin. "That's Samson, the twin over there is Aaron... Alexander is the midget, Rhianna the girl, Markus is the man obviously, and that's... Hayden Granger trying to get that tent from the bag."

Again, the crowd was surprised. Charlotte was rather surprised too. How could he tell the difference between the twins? He'd never even met them before! The conversation the night previous with Sirius and Remus about the possibility of Evan being a seer was once more brought to mind. Either that or he could read minds... which he admitted that he could, but he said it was quite noticeable, and that he was a novice.

Regardless, everyone was quite surprised about this, and it made the Prewetts a bit on edge, excepting the prankster twins of course, who immediately got in the spirit of things and were trying to outwit Evan in a moment.

"Oh really, Mr. Evan was it?" Asked a twin. Charlotte thought this was Aaron, but was unsure, as she'd never been able to tell one from the other, and Evan had probably gotten it wrong when he pointed them out to Sirius and Remus. He'd never met the boy before!

"Quite really, really," Evan replied evenly. "And don't call me 'mister'. I'm not even two years older than you... besides, my last name is Pronghorn. If you absolutely must call me 'mister', at least use my last name, Aaron." A smirk flicked into place. "And I'd suggest just making a magical fire. There's a reason they drench the area in muggle repellent wards, and it's not because they think we'll all be burned at the stake. I'll admit part of the experience is lighting the muggle way, but _you_ have to admit it's silly to bother. If you're going to use a magic tent, why bother with muggle fire starters, yeah?"

Charlotte smiled slightly, knowing that Mr. Prewett had been intending to use matches to start the fire. Probably would have used up the entire book of them too, actually. While he wasn't at all obsessed with muggles (unlike Mrs. Prewett, who was very much into anything and everything muggle), he did err to the side of caution. But then, why would Evan be advocating magical methods when Sirius and Remus had started the fire the muggle way (albeit a different muggle way than Mr. Prewett was intending)? The Seer theory was seeming more and more likely with each passing minute.

"I suppose," Mr. Prewett winced slightly. "No one will really notice with all the mayhem about here, hm?" He looked uncomfortable. Charlotte assumed it had to do with having been told the reasonable course of action by a teenager the same age as his third son, but then, so would most people. Charlotte found that Evan seemed to know just how to deal with a lot of adults in just the right way, being direct with some and not with others just as it was best to. He'd known just how to address Remus' fears and Sirius' suspicion. They said it was unnerving that he could always know how to talk to a person for the best results. That had been the start of the Seer debate a week and a half before.

"I think they'll be to busy making the Welsh get rid of the pygmy hippogriffs to notice a single fire charm," was Evan's reassurance. "Anyway, it was nice to meet you all, but I need to get to making breakfast. Anyone who wants to join us may, but I'm sure you've all got something planned anyway. See ya." He smirked then, turned about, and walked across the path to the fire, which was now quite sizable, and began pulling things out to cook with. Charlotte looked away and found herself face to face with an awestruck Rhianna Weasley.

"He can cook?" She was in absolute awe of Evan now. Charlotte felt something stir within her. Rhianna was so exasperating when it came to boys!

"Breakfast every morning," Charlotte clarified without thought. "Sometimes he'll help the house elves with lunch and dinner too, if he's not too busy. I mean, he's got to deal with running his house, and talking with the goblins about his investments, and a lot of other things, but he still manages to sit back and relax sometimes. It's really rather impressive."

"House elves?" Hayden was immediately there. "You keep house elves? As in tiny slaves with high pitched voices?"

"They aren't slaves," Charlotte responded. "Evan explained it all rather well to me. A house elf has to do something like cleaning or cooking to survive, and they feed off of the magic of a wizard that they bond to. Evan doesn't even order them to do anything, and he treats them very well. He doesn't pay them, obviously –" Hayden looked about to protest, but Charlotte cut him off. "Suppose you helped me with my homework. Would you want me to pay you for it? Of course not! It's like the elves in the Shoemaker's Tale. They get insulted if you try to pay them, and if you give them any clothes or gifts outside of the initial uniform – Springy told me that's what cements the bond – they can't work for you anymore. You can give them cloth and tell them to make themselves clothes or something, but otherwise it just doesn't work."

"Back to Evan! He can cook! And he's so nice! I'm so glad he's your cousin and not mine..." If Charlotte didn't know better (and she certainly didn't), she would say Rhianna was drooling... and she most certainly was.

Charlotte sighed, but quickly volunteered herself for wood-fetching duty, going into the forest for the firewood.

Later that day, at about two in the afternoon, everyone was bustling about even more, and Charlotte was practically bouncing with excitement, Brazilian rosette sitting proudly on her hoody. They were walking through the woods to stadium, and Charlotte had her semi-secret second ticket in her pocket, just in case she started to feel uncomfortable. As advised, she had tucked her wand into the wrist holster that Evan had given her, though quite why he had insisted she keep it there instead of her jacket pocket she didn't know.

"There's muggle repelling charms around the entire forest," Mr. Prewett explained offhand as they passed by the magical lanterns. "They remember an important appointment or something, if I recall what Stibbons was talking about last week. Of course, we get to sit in the Ministers' box, and we can talk to all sorts of experts on these things, not to mention the Ministers themselves up there." He cast a sidelong glance at Evan, who was apparently playing a muggle handheld video game (though how he'd made it work was beyond any of them). He'd been trying to get a one up on the teen all day, but was failing. The Prewett patriarch just couldn't comprehend how carefree Evan – being an adult and doing everything that any well off family head was needed to do – always seemed to be. Charlotte suspected that he was jealous of Evan's ability to keep on top of all these things at once, but kept the opinion to herself. She knew better than to say anything that would provoke rage. Her "savior" wasn't so great to make her unlearn so many "lessons" in just half a month.

"Really? That's nice," Evan murmured, still clicking away at his game. "I hear that Victoria Krum is sitting up in your box too. She's nice, and a wicked seeker. It's rather too bad that Brazil knocked Bulgaria out of the Semi-Finals last June. I think a Bulgarian match would have been a better one than Brazilian really." A rather defeated noise came from the contraption in his hands and Evan frowned. "Rats! I almost had a new high score..."

Charlotte just smiled vaguely and shook her head. Not caring about what others thought important, and then pouting over losing at a video game... that was _definitely_ Evan. Or, she thought so. His personality wavered so much she could never be sure.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

The Prewetts (plus Charlotte) had just gone to sleep when the screaming started. Charlotte sat up quickly, eyes wide, and shook Rhianna awake from the cot beside her. "Rhi! Wake up!" An explosion sounded, and footsteps came quickly from in front of the tent. The door in the next room over was zipped open quickly.

"Cheri! Rhianna! Get dressed and outside, now! There's a riot!" Evan's voice called into the not-so-still air of the tent. Charlotte didn't need telling twice, and was casting a water spell on her friend to wake her before she grabbed a pair of pants to put on under her night robe. The pair was soon out, and Evan brought them to the edge of the woods. "The others have already gone in. Go about one hundred paces in, I'll get you when the Death Eaters are taken care of."

"Evan!" It seemed quite real, suddenly. "What about you?" What about her cousin? What was going to happen to him?

"Remus, Sirius and I are going to head them off," he said quickly, trying to turn them about. "You know Defense is my best subject, Cheri, and Sirius might as well have been an auror. We'll be fine. You two get in the forest, and keep your wits about you. Don't lose your wands, and hide your rosette Rhianna. You don't want to start a fight with a disgruntled Brazilian because you're still wearing the Welsh colors." A smile flicked up, and then pushed the girls away. "Go on. I'll be back in half an hour, tops."

And then he was gone, running in the direction of the flames and screams. Charlotte could just make out the fringe of the Death Eaters, and that a girl was being dangled upside down as a silhouette. With that in mind, Charlotte grabbed a panicked Rhianna by the arm and started dragging her through the woods, counting her paces as she went. Hardly ten steps in, the older of the pair tripped, almost taking Charlotte with her.

"Watch where you step, Prewett," Came the drawl of Draco Malfoy as the girl in question lifted herself up again. "Want to be showing your knickers off up there too? Well, I suppose a peep show is all you'd really have going for you, isn't it?" He scowled. Charlotte felt anger bubble up in her, but quashed it. Evan had said not to start fights that morning. And while it wouldn't really be starting one (as Malfoy had been the one to instigate anything), she'd rather keep herself in one piece.

"Not that your girlfriend has even that," Charlotte shot back, pulling Rhianna to her feet again. "After all, you're dating a pug, aren't you? Talk about animal cruelty, forcing yourself on a dog." Everything that she knew would have put her in Slytherin (she sometimes regretted not going into that house to begin with anyway, if only to get away from the blinding decor of Gryffindor) rose in her, not wanting to actually fight. Slinging mud was just fine; it meant she could rub the blond's nose in it.

He just sneered. "It seems the kitty grew some claws," Malfoy snapped back. "Another mark against you, I'm afraid. No one cares for a delusional half blood, especially one that's so... dumpy as you are, Potter."

_Who would want me anyway?_ She wondered. _I'm damaged goods, and a freak to boot. Everything is either pity or people trying to have a go at my fame. Try telling me something I don't already know Malfoy._ But she didn't say that. It would have been defeat. Sure, Charlotte was a freak, she'd known that her whole life, but she was a defiant freak. That defiance was the only reason she'd been put in Gryffindor.

"Nice to know ferret face," Charlotte could have sworn that, in the dim lighting, she saw the Malfoy heir blush crimson at this. Evan had mentioned something about Malfoys looking like ferrets a bit, and she had to agree. She didn't like picking on people like that, but it was Malfoy. With him she had to fight fire with fire. "Not all of us keep our minds perpetually in the gutter though. I mean, do you think of anything besides screwing that dog of yours?" A smile flitted across her face as she saw him gape. "Kitty's got claws" her slippered foot! "Lioness' got fangs" was more like it. Charlotte was Gryffindor and Slytherin at once. A striking snake in a lion's pelt. Truly the epitome of freak. "Now then, Malfoy, Rhianna and I have to go somewhere. I'm sure you want to watch your father dangling muggles about. Tata."

Before there could be so much as a retort, Charlotte lost herself and Rhianna to the shadows. She felt the affair had been handled pretty well, despite the inner commentary. Evan had been helping her with her witty repartee lately, and she found the practice refreshing. She rather appreciated it, as of then.

After Charlotte had finally counted off one hundred paces, she stopped. Rhianna finally gained her footing and turned to the girl before her with wicked glee.

"You totally put Malfoy in his place!" Rhianna squealed. "That was the best thing ever! Those precious seconds will forever be engrained in my mind..." Her eyes were starry, looking out through the dense trees. There were very few wizards that Rhianna didn't lust for, at least, not attractive ones, and Malfoy, despite being one of the most fit fourteen year olds either had met, was very much not on the lust list (and there was indeed a list). Rhianna either adored a guy, he was family, or hated him, no gray areas. (Well, there was also an "ugly guys" category in there somewhere.)

"He deserved it," snorted Charlotte, but she grinned as she did. "I've got a new school year resolution though. We don't bug him unless he messes with us first, and when it does happen, we don't sling spells. Get it? Evan and I hashed it out. We always get in trouble for attacking Malfoy when he badmouths, but if we just badmouth back, what can he do? We won't lose points or sleep over it, right?"

"It's not our fault though!" And, technically, it wasn't. At least, not Charlotte's. Nine times out of ten she would either ignore Malfoy, or pretend to and hide out in the bathroom. That last ten percent, when she went insane pretty much, Malfoy was always in a bad way, and she usually had several detentions. But, then, half of those times where he came off worse (from her at least), he had tried to do more than just embarrass her and egg her into something. So she only really fought then. It was usually Rhianna who reacted and got them both in trouble. The best way to get Rhianna to agree to these sorts of things was to make it seem like Charlotte thought she was at fault too.

"I know," Charlotte had a placating tone as she said this. She knew that Rhianna really was just a tag along, that she wanted to bask in the vapors of her fame. But she couldn't say no to her. Evan had mentioned he'd noticed several compulsions on her. She wondered if that was one of them. "But if we keep letting him get to us, what happens then? We get Gryffindor in the negative points? It just means he wins, even if we send him to the Hospital Wing."

Rhianna, however, couldn't respond to this, as a shout was heard from the East, shouting an incantation that sounded like "Morsmordre!" Charlotte had heard that before, when Evan was telling her about Death Eaters. It was the incantation to send the Dark Mark into the sky. She paled and ran in the direction it had come from and arrived just behind the circle of people who appeared. They sent stunners, and Charlotte dove to the ground and heard a thud behind her. Rhianna had followed and been hit. A final crack came from three feet away, and a shout came from twenty feet before her.

"That's my daughter!" It was Mr. Prewett. He'd seen Rhianna get hit. A hand lifted Charlotte gently to her feet as a blue light streaked by her. "What are you doing here?" Charlotte looked and saw Evan, and she gave him a hug. It was all too exciting! Who had let it up? "Charlotte! Get away from him! He might be the one who did it!"

"Markus, you have got to be barmy," Evan sighed as he hung an arm loosely over Charlotte's shoulder. "Here, you can check my wand for any lethal or illegal spells. You won't even find a cutting hex." Two more pops, and Remus and "Cyrus" appeared as well, both panting, robes torn and slightly bloodied.

"Dear Merlin! I haven't had that much fun in ages!" Sirius piped happily, wiping blood off of this cheek. "'Lo everyone. Any suspects yet?" And everyone just stared. He was, after all, a supposed Aussie. Wasn't that the irony of it? Sirius Black, falsely imprisoned, was pretending to be from Australia, where criminals were once exported to. "What? I can't help that I like kicking... butt..." He trailed off as everyone continued to stare him down. A blush crawled across the cheeks of his false person and he shifted to stand behind Remus, who just shook his head, exasperated.

"Excuse him," Remus said calmly. "He's Australian. Can't help it." A snort came from in the circle, Amos Diggory.

"You don't have to tell me that. He was going absolutely mad during the match," he said after the derisive snort had brought attention from him. "Anyway, I don't think it's the short guy. Charlotte obviously knows him."

"And she is fourteen, prone to error," An old man that Charlotte remembered as being identified by the name Bartemius Crouch strode forward, frowning. "I'll take up that offer of looking at your wand history." Charlotte stepped out of the embrace finally, and Evan pulled out his wand, flicking it and saying "Priori Incantatem."

First out of the way was a jet of white smoke, a healing spell, then a lot of silver smokes and reds. All that showed was stunning and disarming spells. Those went for a full minute, then some household charms, fire starting, feather light charms, standard cooking and cleaning spells, basic warding. Nothing at all incriminating after twenty four hours worth of spells. Evan put his wand away into his pocket and rolled his shoulders, yawning.

"If any of you had been listening, you would have heard the thud over behind those bushes of a figure falling over. Mr. Crouch, why don't you come check it out with me if you're so cautious?" Evan gestured to a large oak and the bushes surrounding and tramped into them, Mr. Crouch following. They came out two minutes later bearing a house elf, Mr. Crouch's own, which held Rhianna's wand clasped in its hand.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

Evan didn't go to sleep that night. Sirius and Remus had given him odd looks, since they had done their celebrating for the Welsh win. Why would he just stay up and drink hot chocolate into the night? Why didn't he go to bed when he was supposed to have a meeting with the goblins early in the morning? But Evan wasn't a fool. He had made sure that the instant the first scream was heard, he was already running into Sirius and Remus' tent, where he was lucky to find them covered, if not clothed.

"Get up," he barked, making sure to turn away so he could toss clothes (and a Polyjuice Potion for Sirius of "Cyrus") at them. No way in hell was Evan going to accidentally look at them like... _that_. "Death Eaters are attacking the camp. Either hide or fight, your choice." He left as soon as he knew they were moving, and they said they would defend. He crossed the walkway to the Prewett tents, and he heard shuffling from the girls'. He ordered them up and moved on to the men's.

The boys were out faster, all still wearing their day clothes. Markus (he did remind Evan of Molly, if only because of his size and smile) was out running to the scene with Eric (who was the family Bill), Brandon (Charlie), and Percy (three guesses who?) in tow. Evan ushered the younger boys to the woods and told them to stay put until they were retrieved. He rushed back to the girls' tent as they were emerging.

"The others have already gone in. Go about one hundred paces in, I'll get you when the Death Eaters are taken care of," He said quickly as he pushed them into the woods. Charlotte stumbled a step as she turned around.

"Evan!" He needed to go, but stayed to hear her out. "What about you?" What about Evan? Of course, she didn't know he'd already been through worse. Having family was certainly nice, he decided, even if she was him... sort of. It was like having a Hermione who didn't know him quite as well. Kind of endearing in and of itself.

"Remus, Sirius and I are going to head them off," he informed them, trying to usher them away. "You know Defense is my best subject, Cheri, and Sirius might as well have been an auror. We'll be fine. You two get in the forest, and keep your wits about you. Don't lose your wands, and hide your rosette Rhianna. You don't want to start a fight with a disgruntled Brazilian because you're still wearing the Welsh colors." Evan grinned, knowing that the rosette piping "Giltry! Kruger! Bron!" would actually make them a bit easier to find. "Go on. I'll be back in half an hour, tops."

With that he gave them an additional push and ran off. Evan wondered if Rhianna would still trip over that root in the dark... but, then, Ron _was_ pretty clumsy, and Rhianna didn't seem quite so much. He hoped. But he dared not to dwell on the matter; the screams were getting closer. He ran, quickly downing his third calming draught for the evening, and heard receding footsteps behind him as he sprinted down the main path to where the Death Eaters were dangling the camp manager's family. It didn't take long to get to the fight either. Not that it was much of one though. The Ministry people were running about screaming like headless chickens or else ushering away the straggling civilians, some putting out fires that the Death Eaters started. These Evan ignored, going straight for the head of the pack where Remus and Sirius were dueling with two daring Death Eaters. He caught hints of blonde hair from one, and noticed the other had a blade in one hand. Lucius Malfoy and Macnair probably. Evan's wand was up before he realized it, shielding him from a spell.

He couldn't lose. At first, he had wanted to not accept the Death Stick, the Elder Wand. Thing is, he wasn't a fool. He knew that the Elder Wand was his, and as well as the holly and phoenix feather wand worked, it couldn't compare to _that_ wand, the rush of magic, the tingle as it sped through his fingers. It wasn't the same, but when Evan picked up the Elder Wand after it had returned to him, it had morphed into a replica of his perfect wand. It held Phoenix feather, and the wood turned to ebony. The feather he could tell was a mock of Fawkes', but the change in wood he didn't understand. No need to though; all he needed to know was that with this wand he could dive into battle with all these Death Eaters and come out on top as spell after spell was issued.

Undefeatable! Oh, it wasn't for pride of course, why should he care for that? No, it was that Evan was a protector. He had been told before that there was something wrong with him. He had a hero complex, and it often did him more ill than good. It lost his godfather to the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. His nobility lost Cedric to Wormtail (even if he had been using Voldemort's wand at the time). But now he wasn't on a foolish rescue, he was protecting the few people who were at all important to him. Charlotte had to stay safe. She didn't deserve her life anymore than Evan had, so he was going to do his best to make it better. And Sirius, Remus... he owed them too much! He had hardly gotten to know his Sirius; Harry Potter's own stupidity stole him away, which he wouldn't let happen to Charlotte and her Sirius. And Remus, well, Evan had never really made the effort to begin with. He knew he was a werewolf, that he valued friendship above everything, only the "big" things. He didn't even know the man's favorite color. As he dodged and sent a stunner at the Death Eater – for Evan was now fighting several who were out to protect their fun – he wondered why he should even have been made Teddy's godfather, since they hardly knew each other.

A hush fell over the Death Eaters, and then they all apparated away, en masse. The muggles fell, but the Ministry wizards caught them magically, except for the little boy. He fell straight into the arms of Eric Prewett before being set down. Ministry wizards apparated away as well, and Evan was left to direct the boy to the Obliviators. He apparated to where he knew the Mark had been sent up, not keen to watch Sirius give Remus a victory make out.

He came maybe only ten seconds behind the Ministry workers, enough to see as Rhianna Prewett finished her fall. He noticed Charlotte was on the ground, breathing heavily, and sighed. She heard the shout and had let her curiosity take held, just like Evan always did. He picked her up and ennervated Rhianna with a quick, silent spell.

"What are you doing here?" It was Markus, Evan realized as Charlotte hugged him around the middle. Evan was still ensconced in shadows, but Charlotte could doubtless tell his features in the dim lighting. Markus could probably only tell because he was the only one she really hugged of her own volition. "Charlotte! Get away from him! He might be the one who did it!" And Evan then rolled his eyes as he slung an arm over Charlotte's shoulders. Honestly! He was just as overprotective as Molly, if in a more vicious, potentially violent manner.

"Markus, you have got to be barmy," Evan sighed heavily, lifting his wand arm which still held the Elder Wand loosely. "Here, you can check my wand for any lethal or illegal spells. You won't even find a cutting hex." There was no reply as two pops indicated the arrival of Remus and Sirius. Obviously, they had finished their victory snog, and both were flushed, looking a bit worse for wear.

"Dear Merlin! I haven't had that much fun in ages!" Sirius piped happily, wiping blood off of this cheek, though it didn't stop the flow that came from just below his left eye. Evan made a mental note to give him some potions in the tents. In the meantime, he sent a quick "Episkey" his way. "'Lo everyone. Any suspects yet?" Evan sighed, exasperated. He was a bit of a fool, childish and what not, but at least his jovial curiosity could be taken for little more than being a bit... Gryffindorish. If that was a word. It probably wasn't, but he'd never bothered to look through a magical dictionary. Who knew what weird words they might have in there? "What? I can't help that I like kicking... butt..." At the looks everyone gave him, Sirius blushed and hid behind Remus. The man was not at all cautious, even though he was an escaped falsely-accused convict with no evidence to his innocence aside from the word of three underage witches and wizard in training, a young man of a background that definitely wasn't iron clad, and a werewolf. He couldn't be found out, or else.

Remus spoke up before anyone could speak the old "blame the Aussie." "Excuse him," Remus requested amiably, stepping aside to pat "Cyrus'" head. "He's Australian. Can't help it." Sirius scowled, but preened under the attention regardless. Amos Diggory snorted from within the circle.

"You don't have to tell me that. He was going absolutely mad during the match," he intoned lazily, eyes rolling in the wandlight. "Anyway, I don't think it's the short guy," Evan scowled. He couldn't help it if he was shorter than average! And it was only _barely_ at that. Blame the bleeding Dursleys! "Charlotte obviously knows him." As if Charlotte hugged just anyone. Actually, the fact she hadn't pulled back yet disconcerted Evan some.

"And she is fourteen, prone to error," Barty Crouch Sr. had been working his way around the circle and stood not in front of Evan, his shadowed face being several inches over the teen's own. He met the official glare for glare. "I'll take up that offer of looking at your wand history." Finally, Charlotte left Evan's side, taking a few steps back. He just lifted his wand, swished it, and chanted quickly "Priori Incantatem."

First came the phantom of the healing spell, and after that the past five minutes' worth of stunning and disarming charms. The day's mundane spells and the fire spell he'd used to light the dinner fire (he didn't trust Cyrus with the torch, and Remus had informed him his nose was still hurting from it) were all that showed. Actually, even if Evan _had_ used anything incriminating, this wand wouldn't have showed it under Priori Incantatem. It was made to win any battle, including one of virtue. He had probably cast more Unforgivables than anyone in the clearing, except...

"If any of you had been listening, you would have heard the thud over behind those bushes of a figure falling over. Mr. Crouch, why don't you come check it out with me if you're so cautious?" Evan knew he had to be there; Barty Crouch Jr. was there.

He led the older man away to the bushes and pushed them back for him after they had gone to where the house elf and halfway uncovered body of Crouch Junior. His fastening on the cloak had come undone, so the face, neck, upper chest and legs were visible. Crouch Sr. paled and was darting looks at Evan.

"I won't turn you in Mr. Crouch," Evan rolled his eyes. "Honestly, unless I was to stun you and take you out with your son, no one would believe me. I'm not inclined to get jailed for assault of a government official. So, you take your elf out there and I cast a disillusionment spell on this gormless piece of trash. However, I suggest you tread carefully from here on out, and perhaps learn to overcome the Imperius Curse in the next week? You won't want to overcome the curse until Moody is at Hogwarts though. Then you will break it and come to me. You will be missing, and it will be a blow to the Ministry, but look at it this way; you won't be dead, will you?" Evan sneered and turned from the man, who held the wand bearing elf in hand. With a swift tap he disillusioned the Death Eater and followed close behind Crouch, Sr. who was too stunned to respond at all. Evan didn't actually care if he went for the advice, but if he did... well, he could always get some good blackmail on _other_ ministry officials.

"That's my wand!" Rhianna spouted indignantly from where she stood in her father's arms. Crouch's eyes narrowed, but Evan cut him off.

"Good thing it was found then," he said, sending Crouch a warning look as he took the wand. "You mentioned that you weren't sure where it was when you went into the forest, didn't you?" She didn't get the hint, but Charlotte did, and she agreed immediately. "Mr. Diggory, would you mind checking the wand's history? I'm no Ministry official, so nothing I do with another's wand can be trusted, right?" His lips twitched as he took the wand, and Evan finally was in the circle. One of the man sputtered.

"You! You're the guy who was fighting the Death Eaters!" Evan didn't know him, an old man in a dressing gown with a bald head.

"So were they," he said, pointing to Remus and "Cyrus", who seemed entertained to just stand about and watch. "Besides, someone had to stop them, didn't they?" Shuffling. There was absolutely no one here who had actually _engaged_ any Death Eaters in a real duel outside of us three. Some of them might have tossed the odd spell in, but only from a safe distance. "Anyway, get on with it. I intend to get some sleep before I have to strike my tent tomorrow; it's almost midnight."

There was a bit more sputtering, but Amos performed the spell, and the Dark Mark came out of the wand. There was no other spell since Rhianna hadn't done any spell casting that day. The Diggory Patriarch nodded.

"Right, Mr. Crouch we'll have to question your elf as to why she had the wand of a young witch, but I'm sure she just picked it up or something when we apparated," He didn't even give the man time to be indignant. "Just a quick questioning to make sure. You can bring her by my office tomorrow, or Carter's, elves are usually his job anyway."

Everything dissolved quickly, people occasionally congratulating Evan for "upholding the standards of a brave Englishman" even though he wasn't, to their knowledge, _actually_ British at all. Sirius and Remus apparated back to the tents to check on the Prewetts, and Evan walked with Charlotte.

"Thanks for coming for us," She murmured. He just shrugged off the appreciation. "I'm being completely serious here Evan! I mean... you do a lot more than you should have to! You took in Sirius, even though everyone thinks he's a murderer and you obviously knew Remus was a werewolf before you even sent him a letter! And... You saved me from the Dursleys." She sighed and looked up at him, curiosity in her gaze. "Why?"

"Why what? Why did I come for you after I told you I would? Why do I do so much? Why did I allow a notorious murderer into my home, despite the fact that he was completely innocent, or not fear a man who only turns into an easily controlled animal once a month for only four hours? Why did I save my blood from a family of child abusers?" Charlotte blushed as Evan said all of this, and he just shrugged. "Cheri, everything I do has a reason. Maybe not some 'good' reason that has to do with self-benefit, but a good reason anyway. Sirius was framed and spent twelve years locked away, his dreams of freedom were shut down in June. He didn't deserve that, it wasn't Karma at all. I gave him a semblance of a normal life and you an opportunity to know a man that, otherwise, you would know only through letters and the occasional peek at.

"As for Remus, he's always been a werewolf. Your parents were his friends anyway, and when he taught last year only Snape actually disliked him, right? He's a good man, he just has a bit of a furry problem that we tame with potions. I've made sure he has enough to last beyond the time until I would be out of school and available to continue to make them, so why should I be concerned about having him in my house? You are family, and you trust them, and love them, so they are family too. I couldn't just let the Dursleys continue what they were doing when I knew what was going on and where you were. Despite blood ties, I cannot in good conscience call them anything resembling family. They are monsters without a moon. Which is why I've been busy, actually. The court date to try them for Abuse of a Magical Minor is the day after the moon." Charlotte jumped and looked at him in shock. "I'm going to meet the goblins tomorrow after everything has packed up to finalize our evidence and witnesses. It'll be okay Cheri."

Evan turned and gave her a kiss on the forehead (which was easy as said forehead was mouth level anyway), causing her to blush. They stayed silent the rest of the way to the tents, where the Prewetts were having a chat. Rhianna saw them and waved.

"Evan! Charlotte! I'm glad you made it out okay!" She shouted, jogging over in the dark. The red head tripped about three feet out from them, and Evan caught her effortlessly. She really was as clumsy as Ron! Maybe bordering on Tonks level clumsiness, seeing as how she tripped over her own feet. Rhianna blushed as he stood her up. "Th-thanks Evan."

"Welcome Rhianna," he replied easily. But why was she blushing? He would _never_ understand girls.

That night he set up the third tent with a quick spell, and Charlotte slept there. They were packed in the morning by seven and apparated home. Evan never would have chosen to go home when he was Charlotte's age over being at the Burrow, but then again, he hadn't had the Stag's Sanctuary. After making sure that everyone was completely healthy (Charlotte took a second phial of nutrition potion guiltily, having forgotten to have any with her dinner the night before), he left the house to visit the goblins.

Gringotts and Diagon Alley never changed. Some shops had different names, due to slight changes on lineage or gender of parents, but "Madame Janas" looked exactly the same as Madame Malkins had, and they shared the same trade. The Goblins didn't seem to suffer from the mixed up genders (though Evan could hardly tell), and he went to the goblin in charge of the Pronghorn Estate, Griphook. While it was true that he had pretty much tried to screw Evan over as far as destroying horcruxes went, he was a reliable goblin who was loyal to his people.

"Master Griphook," Evan bowed to the goblin behind the desk. He looked up. "I am here to finalize the evidence and witnesses for tomorrow's trial. Is the Master in charge of legal affairs available?" He had, of course, already set for this meeting, but he knew something of goblin culture by then, and to not take their time for granted was certainly one of them. It helped that he had read a book after the Sword debacle before actually doing any business with them about opening his vault or anything.

Griphook took his time going in through one of the doors and didn't come back for five minutes. "He is waiting for you, Mr. Pronghorn." Evan nodded in acknowledgement before setting off in his wake. He led the teen to a fine door of white oak and ushered him in. A wizened goblin received him.

"Mr. Pronghorn," The goblin stood slowly as Evan bowed deeply before him. "Precisely on time, something I come to expect only from the purest of families. I am surprised." Evan knew he was indeed surprised, but that was understandable. The nervous who didn't know how to deal with goblins showed early, those interested in business, especially the low class, late, but only the high end people with a lot of spare time bothered to show right on the dot. He thanked Merlin once more for the books on Goblins. It showed a knowledge of the goblin's strict discipline and an ability to tell time, which was better by them than wasting time that was either theirs or one's own.

"I suppose," an airy reply was always good to start. "Shall we get to business? I'm afraid this whole trial will be a lot harder to deal with since wizards haven't got _actual_ solicitors, but our evidence is iron clad. Memories, truth serum, and muggle neighbors who can have their minds altered to believe it was a muggle trial secures the victory... but I know very little about the system, honestly. I've only been to a few trials, one of them my own for using a Patronus Charm to protect myself from a rogue dementor actually, and I know how stubborn the Ministry can be. But I haven't come to speak of the past, have I? What is your advice for evidence to be revealed, order, and policy on veritaserum?"

They worked well into the morning, finally stopping at one in the afternoon. The Goblin, Master Grabsnatch, had another appointment, and Evan had to get home. Charlotte had to be told of the proceedings for the trial, and he needed another calming draught.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

**A/n: Here's chapter 2, obviously. As you no doubt noticed, chapter 3 will be the trial, fun, right?**

**Wow! Humongous response from you guys! Seriously, I have a friend on here that beat me over the head when she saw my stats (I was at a sleepover at Purple Fuzzi Wumps' house a couple days ago, so... yeah...). Anyway, posted this a bit earlier than intended... don't expect an update for a while though. I do have a social life, and school, so, unfortunately, I can't spend all my time writing. And don't expect some great trial. I know very little of legal systems, and I'm not going to waste my life researching. I update at my leisure and/or convenience, not yours. Deal with it.**

**Hope you enjoyed it! Night**

**Edit: all chapters switched to full third person. See Author's Not number 7 for details... if you care. Which I doubt.**


	3. Courtroon Six and the Woes of Calm

Nunquam Somnus: Never Sleep

**Words: 9,560**

**Disclaimer: Own not, profit not. If you recognize it, darn good chance it isn't mine. Not for the closed minded. And it's only as canon as I want it to be. So nyah. Spoilers from all seven books, plus made up stuff where I don't like what they have. A bit of a "Super Harry" fic, in that he is competent. And yes, I am very much female.**

**Warnings: Spoilers from all books. DH and HBP ignored sometimes (such as in the cases of the Happily Ever After, Harry not taking the Elder Wand, he actually learned how to do wards and stuff from Hermione (as in not dumb enough to think that there was no chance she could die/get hurt while he was still alive), he's competent, etc). Dumbledore and Prewett/Weasley bashing. Mixed up genders. Mentions of child abuse and sexual abuse. Extra characters, mainly minor. Some characters have different names. May be more warnings in later chapters. Impolite language. Same sex pairings. Sort-of drug abuse.**

Pre-Note: I've said it before and I will say it again. I know very little about courtroom proceedings, trials in general (even less about child abuse trials), and I can honestly say that I would not do the situation justice. So I go about what I think a NORMAL courtroom proceeding in the Wizarding World (so not the fucked up trials in HP5 and HP7, and I don't watch court tv) would be like, to start, then gloss over. It's a lot better than what I would do to just attempt to write the trial. I'm not stupid; I know what I cannot write and what is often written badly, and court scenes are among those things. Don't berate me for it, I'm just not being some arrogant idiot (despite the fact that I _am_ arrogant) and thinking I can do what I well know I can't. So nyah. Also, a lot of the legal stuff is made up. I literally know next to nothing about law. Really.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

_Chapter 3: Courtroom Six and the Woes of Calm_

_"The appearance in our courts of these learned gentlemen of the law, who can make black appear white and white appear black, is forbidden." Anonymous_

At first, Charlotte had thought that the morning before the trial against the Dursleys would go by either in a blur or at a snail's pace. But she got up from bed, showered and dressed without really noticing that time slipped or snagged, going down to breakfast without mishap. As usual, Evan was seated on the seat to the right of the table's head (he claimed that it felt too pretentious to take the head unless he hosted some sort of dinner – unlikely unless he wanted to compromise the Sanctuary's Fidelius), however, she was surprised to note, he was wearing glasses! He had never mentioned needing vision correction, so Charlotte had assumed that he had perfect vision like most pureblood wizards (even if he was, technically, a half blood like her).

When asked, Evan admitted that he had bought a monthly pair of blue colored contacts when he left the states. "The Evans eyes," he claimed, "are far too noticeable. I don't like the idea of everyone knowing me because of one feature of my face." However, he also found that the Evans blood held true; no glamours would stick, so he couldn't use a simple glamour to hide the distinctive eyes. To his great displeasure, he admitted that the muggle ways didn't work either, and had made his eyes a bit purply, making them even _more_ noticeable than usual. Still, he kept the contacts until they were done with and reverted to delicate silver-framed glasses of a square shape.

It wasn't the excuse that stood out (as she knew that it was his nature to want to be left unnoticed, though he was bad at it), but the look in general. In the photo album given to Charlotte by Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts Groundskeeper, there was a photo of the Potter-Black family (being her grandparents, Dorian Black and the first Charlotte Potter, her mother, Josephine Potter, and her uncle, Jacob Black), the picture of a man with messy black hair, a thin frame, and hazel eyes hidden behind black glasses matching up almost exactly with Evan. Jacob Black had been rumored to have died around the same time that Evan mentioned her aunt Lily to have been killed as well (no one actually knew _when_). Was it some great coincidence, or was there something larger behind it?

After both Marauders being completely blown over by how much Evan resembled their best female-friend's older brother (and honorary marauder at that), the morning finally did start to do as time does; it flew by. So Charlotte found herself seated on a bench in the fore of a small courtroom at the Ministry awaiting the trial with only Evan, Sirius, and Remus at her side.

More people filtered in slowly. Mostly social workers from the Ministry, the Wizengamot members, and the various witnesses who Evan had selected. She recognized some of her primary school teachers, neighbors, and her old baby sitter, Mrs. Figg (though she still wondered how Evan knew the woman to be a squib, a fact confirmed by her nonplussed attitude at the very wizarding setting). There were no witnesses for the defense, and the Dursleys were going to arrive at the last minute, no doubt.

"Don't worry, Cheri," Evan whispered, causing Charlotte to jump. She sighed, glancing away from him. She had already resolved to not mention much. Who would believe her if she really told everything? Oh, she could say they gave her very little to eat, so little that she had been put on a nutrition potion. She could mention the chores, the beatings, and the rewards that Delilah got for beating on her, the sable haired girl could even tell about the cupboard with ease.

Charlotte wasn't a fool though. She had seen some of Petunia's "women's talk shows", and they talked about it from time to time. People rarely believed about that, and where was the proof? They would ask why she had never said before, why she didn't show signs. But, if it was treated as a regular beating from her uncle, and she only actually learned the importance of any of it when she was thirteen, how could she really have been affected? Oh, she hated being touched, just like any child who was beat, and she was certainly not looking forward to getting into a physical relationship, but what else could there be noticed? She was fourteen. They might just assume was seeking sympathy or pity, and that she'd just been out for fun the last school year or something! No, she was keeping that to herself.

Suddenly, Charlotte realized that everything was quiet. The side doors had opened, and the Dursleys had walked in, all wearing muggle suits or "nice" dresses, but she knew they were nervous. She hadn't done anything wrong, but she was nervous anyway! The courtroom was intimidating. The three wizengamot members presiding, an older woman, Minister Fudge, and a strange man with furry ears all stood as the three took their seats. Dumbledore was nowhere in sight, and Charlotte was unsure as to whether she should be pleased or disappointed that he wouldn't even come to sit at a trial instigated by his manipulations (or so Evan informed her).

"This is the case of Charlotte Rose Potter against the Dursley family," the Minister crowed to the courtroom. "Those present are to state their names for the record." A tall, thin man with graying hair stood in the corner, quill writing everything as court scribe, if what Charlotte remembered was right. "Cornelius Oswald Fudge, interim Supreme Mugwump for the proceedings."

More names were stated. The other "judges" were Amelia Susanna Bones, of the Department of Defense, and Gerald Scorpius Owens, of the Department of Magical Transportations. Remus John Lupin and Cyrus Jeremiah Zwart gave their names eventually, and listing themselves as moral support for the Prosecution.

"Evan Romulus Grimm Pronghorn, acting as voice to the Court for Charlotte Rose Potter in that, despite her being emancipated, her status as not being of age disallows her the right to prosecute in a Court of Magical Law without a member of her family speaking in her stead due to the perceived notion that no one under the age of 17 can be trusted to tell the truth." Charlotte perked an eyebrow at him. The way he worded that... it was as if he was familiar with that particular idea in the wizarding world. And he certainly had odd middle names, come to think of it.

"And your relation to Ms. Potter?" This was Madame Bones.

"I'm the son of her great aunt, on her father's side, so I think the phrase is second cousin, Madame Bones," Evan informed the assembled. While the muggles behind seemed to be wondering what he meant by magic, he seemed completely unperturbed. He was silent, but then nudged her. She blushed, realizing she was probably supposed to introduce herself then. The girl was very glad, then, that he had given her the calming draughts before they came.

"Er... Charlotte Rose Potter," She announced to the assembled, "plaintiff...?" She wasn't quite sure if that was the correct term. Evan himself had been a bit fuzzy on the whole thing, claiming to have looked more into laws and such than court room decorum. He said it was a waste of time to bother with pleasantries for something wholly unpleasant, like bowing in a duel to the death.

There was quite a lot of bustling at that point, and Charlotte wished dearly that the Press hadn't been let in... but it was a Ministry trial, and they were always open. Evan stated all of the charges against the Dursleys while she sat, fidgeting. How was he so calm? Well, she was the one they had wronged, but under all of those eyes, the stares of people upon them as Evan stood so calmly. It wasn't just a calming draught keeping him like that, because she was still very nervous despite it. Still, Charlotte kept her eyes glued to the table in front of her as Evan listed off what he knew: Purposeful endangerment, willful neglect, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, and encouragement of bullying (which, while not technically a crime in and of itself, was still immoral and could probably tack on a bit to the adult Dursleys' sentences) of a minor in their care.

Evidence was brought forward soon. First, parts of her medical records were shown, given by the Hogwarts matron, Madame Pomfrey, who commented that she always looked skeletally thin when she arrived to school. Next up were teachers from the muggle school who, though completely confused as to what was going on, did manage to inform the court of what they had noticed and reported at various times while teaching the girl in question. When the neighbors came up, stating that they had also reported the obvious abuse, malnutrition, and general loathing of Charlotte by her false-guardians, and that they hated the family. The stricken looks on the Dursleys' faces made it worth while, especially the horrified look on Aunt Patricia's face as they noted how "abnormal" the family always behaved, even without Charlotte around.

Lastly, Charlotte had to testify with a memory for each charge. Leaving her alone in a park in London at night, and Charlotte had to accidentally apparate home. A beating one evening when she was five for being "a good for nothing freak". The insulting of her parents and herself when she couldn't lift up the frying pan of Dudley and Delilah's breakfast in the morning before school when she was six. When she was nine she was locked in her cupboard for the first half of summer vacation, given one "meal" a day. Just the summer before, Delilah had shoved her down the stairs while Aunt Marge was visiting, and the cow was given an extra helping of pie with her dinner, she even included one of Aunt Marge's sessions with regurgitating all of the lies she had been told about Charlotte and her parents – the one from the summer previous. All these memories, most of them being mild ones, received a horrified response from everyone in the room.

Madame Bones called for a recess before the Defense could make their stand (though, as they were all covered in the proverbial monkey dung, they wouldn't be having much of one), and the Press did what their name implied; they tried to press forward. Luckily, Sirius and Remus had already put up a ward on the area that Charlotte sat in, and they managed to talk.

"You did very well, Cheri," Evan sighed with a smile. "I can honestly say I could have never done what you have in this situation. Especially with those _vultures_ hovering about, waiting to slander you somehow. It's a wonder you haven't actually gotten too much press before now." His look was sad as he slumped in his seat, pulling a small vial with clumsy fingers from his belt. The pale blue told any looking it was a calming draught that he drank so hastily, shuddering and sighing in relief as the potion went down. His last vial had been taken just before the trial began, less than three hours before, but the dosages weren't supposed to be taken more than three times in the space of 24 hours, eight hour gaps between. Charlotte made a mental note to bring it up with him later. "That'll change this year. It'll do a full one-eighty, I assure you. But I've got blackmail on the worst of them, so hopefully that'll help a bit..."

Charlotte sighed, not bothering to ask how he knew. It was always a similar answer. It was how he _always_ knew, and he never said anything else on the matter. Judging, however, by the courses he had signed up for (she had been with him to shop for school things a couple days before after all), the Seer Theory was right. He was in NEWT Divinations. True, Charlotte didn't hold much stock in Divination, but her cousin had yet to be wrong on anything at all important. And, accordingly, he knew things that had never been mentioned to _anyone_. Her wand core's alliance, for one; he had also, in passing, mentioned something about blue wigs, and she _had_ turned a teacher's wig blue. It also explained how he knew about Sirius and Remus' special circumstances in truth.

"Are you a Seer?" She blurted, quickly covering her mouth. She really hadn't meant to ask! A shy eye was turned to her cousin, noting that he had removed his glasses to rub away imaginary dust from the frames. Evan then shrugged, leaving Charlotte to pout. He never answered any questions about himself! But, then, they _were_ in public. With a sigh, Charlotte sagged into her chair just in time for the three Wizengamot representatives to return to the bench.

"Would Patricia Dursley please stand to her defense against the charges of willful neglect of a magical minor, emotional and mental abuse of a magical minor, encouragement of the abuse of a magical minor, and aiding in the physical abuse of a magical minor?" Madame Bones asked. Patricia didn't move, instead pursing her lips and slowly shaking her head. Any defense she could mount would be to the effect that her charge, the savior of the Wizarding World, was a freak, the freakiest of all freaks, and that she wanted to squash that very freakishness out of her freakish body. Freak. The woman was a monster (freakishly so), but she wasn't an idiot.

"Then would Vernon Dursley please stand to make his defense of his physical, mental, and emotional abuse, encouragement of abuse, purposeful and needless endangerment, and willful neglect of a magical minor in your care?" Inquired Mister Owens. Charlotte cast a glance at her uncle and found he was being subdued by Patricia. Apparently he didn't quite know that insulting wizarding kind in front of a room full of magical people in their government building was very much not a bright idea, so his wife kept him hushed. Finally, the elephantine man simply shook his head that was purple in rage.

"Are there anymore statements to be made in the court?" Asked the Minister, finally. When no one stood with extra evidence or objection, the Minister stood before the assembled. "The Wizengamot members presiding have made the decision that in light of this harsh evidence, Mr. Dursley will be spending the next fifteen years in the muggle section of Azkaban high security with good behavior, twenty without. Mrs. Dursley will spend the next ten years in middle security with good behavior, thirteen without. Their children will be sent to their nearest relative, Ms. Marjorie Dursley, in Sussex until such a time as the pair is of age. This trial is over." The three representatives then left the room in a dignified manner while the Press again attempted to move in on the abused child celebrity. She would have none of it, however.

"Can we go home now?" Charlotte asked with a sigh, standing from her chair and glad, once again, that the calming potion was going to last for a few more hours, even if Evan's personal dosages were more frequent than she had originally guessed. Her cousin stood calmly and pulled his wand as she walked close to him, clearing a path to the door through the Press. All the muggles were being led off for obliviations through the door opposite.

Outside of the courtroom, Charlotte saw the man that she had halfway been looking for the entire trial, waiting for him to defend the Dursleys as his family of choice for the Wizarding World's savior. Dumbledore looked as pleased as ever, though now Charlotte doubted everything about him. Evan had said he knew about Pettigrew and Sirius, that he knew her parents were going to die, and... _Evan said_. That summed it all up rather nicely, didn't it? But Evan was obviously a Seer; he knew things about people that no one knew. He knew the names of the twins, that it was going to rain on a certain day several days before muggle or wizarding post would carry the weather (that had been really rather odd), things about her past that weren't known to anyone not present at those occasions... and he was Evan. She trusted him, a wizard she had met three weeks previously, over any other person (except perhaps Sirius, who she had known for two months, and very sparingly at that), not that it said much about how she trusted people at all.

_What if he's using a compulsion on me?_ She wondered. Then, suddenly, Charlotte wasn't sure if she was thinking of Dumbledore or Evan for that one. She trusted Evan, but she was only doubting him when she saw Dumbledore. Why was her life so confusing?

"Ah, Ms. Potter, Remus... I'm afraid I don't know your compatriots here," Dumbledore had his usual sense of "all knowing" going while still asking a simple query. No doubt he had been watching the trial and knew of Evan, and the man was supposedly a "Master Legilimens" or something, so he would have no trouble finding that Cyrus Zwart was really Sirius Black... though, hopefully, the Headmaster would keep his word regarding the escaped convict.

"Evan Pronghorn, sir," Charlotte's brain almost did a back flip. Her cousin was usually terribly "grumbly" about the Headmaster and his manipulations, and yet he was being awfully civil, and had the usual tone of awe people experienced when meeting the old man (flamboyantly gay and eccentric as he was, the man still managed to be impressive). "It's really a pleasure to meet you. I believe you replied about a month ago to my application to Hogwarts? I'm Charlotte's cousin and current caretaker." Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Caretaker"? He fed her, made sure she was taken care of... honestly, the man treated her like a princess, and without making it insulting, but that went beyond caretaking. It was more along the lines of him being fiercely protective of his family, which he had certainly dubbed her as worthy of.

"And I'm Cyrus Zwart," replied Sirius was an earnest grin. "Friend of Evan and Remus' from Down-Under. I knew Sirius Black back in the day too, actually. Not such a bad fellow as they make him out to be in the papers, I should think. Now that Pettigrew on the other hand, he was a right _rat_, wasn't he?" A not so subtle hint as to Sirius' true identity that set the Headmaster's eyes twinkling.

"Yes, though the old _dog_ would certainly do well to stay hidden until his name is cleared," was the airy response. Charlotte noticed that there was no one swarming the group, but figured Dumbledore had put up wards while she wasn't looking. "Mr. Pronghorn, I was rather surprised to find that you were Lily Evans' son. She went out of contact with the Wizarding World after her Graduation after all, but I'm pleased to see that she managed to live long enough to have a good life, short as it was."

"She moved to America," Evan explained. "My father and she worked in the same Department of the American Ministry, which I must admit is quite a bit more straight forward than your Ministry, Headmaster. However, like I said, my mother did go to Hogwarts, so I chose that for my final year of education. The Salem Institute for Wizards always makes me think of the witch trials." The comments were innocent, yet carefully chosen. What was he doing? "I was quite surprised when, three days after I sent my application, my mother's final journal opened. I hadn't known before that Charlotte was related to me, or just how horrible Patricia was about the whole magic thing. It's a good thing I did, though. Can you imagine Charlotte having to go through all of that for three more years?" Charlotte didn't like being talked over, but the look from Evan told her not to speak. It was a power game of some sort, she guessed, and she knew Evan had the same propensity for being in the snake house as she had. He was showing he wouldn't back down from the man.

"Yes, it truly is a wonder that you found out about her deplorable living situation," Dumbledore seemed distraught enough, but he was terribly calm, even more that Evan usually was (which, she now figured, had to do with Evan taking calming draughts when no one was looking). Charlotte, while a Slytherin at heart, would never understand politics and power plays. "I was wondering if you four would join me at my office for tea. I believe that a discussion is in order now that Charlotte has changed living arrangements. Perhaps tomorrow at two?"

"Cheri?" Evan asked. She turned a bit and he perked his left eyebrow (oddly, he could perk only the left, while Charlotte could lift her right). "Your call this time, I should think. I'm free, of course, since I made sure to keep my schedule clear in case the trial took a couple of days, but I think you should decide this one. After all, you're an emancipated minor, and I've no right to dictate your movements." The man smirked lightly, and Charlotte wondered how she ever thought he looked at all effeminate. It was just that his smile reminded her of a picture of a woman in her album, she realized. He looked delicate, but that smirk made her realize that it was not a delicacy that she had thought of a few weeks ago. He was devious, but so was the Headmaster.

Then, she realized that the Headmaster was just then told of her emancipation, and she almost laughed. Almost. "I don't have any other plans tomorrow," she confirmed, catching on to Evan's game. He was showing that she was not controlled by him, and so she made it seem like she was under Dumbledore's thumb. Evan mentioned the man was skilled in compulsions, which she didn't doubt, and she would rather avoid provoking him into using one. "I don't see why Evan and I, at least, can't come."

"I guess we're going then," Sirius laughed from somewhere behind Charlotte. "It was an honor to meet you Mr. Dumbledore, but I'm afraid Remus and I must be going. See you for tea." The pair continued down the hall, soon accosted by reporters, but ignoring them. Charlotte sighed inwardly. _She_ would just end up giving everything away, unable to think past the camera flashes. It was a good thing she had Evan to protect her from the paparazzi.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

The trial ended just as Evan had predicted, and they (Remus, "Cyrus", Charlotte and Evan) exited the courtroom together, soon coming upon Albus Dumbledore in all his bright-colored manipulative-ness. Evan discretely cast a muffliato on a five foot by five foot area and a proximity charm to set it off. Anyone trying to get close enough to listen in (any beetles too) would get hit personally with the charm, otherwise there would just be a gentle humming coming from our corner to stop anyone hearing them.

Not ten minutes ago, just before the verdict, Evan had taken his fourth calming draught of the day... perhaps his addiction was getting worse? He didn't mind. It was time for power games. He introduced himself to one Albus Dumbledore by saying he was Charlotte's caretaker; he would wonder at the lack of using the term guardian, and then when Sirius introduced himself the man no doubt concluded that Sirius had taken over that role which the Dursleys had never actually fulfilled, physically or legally. Then Dumbledore made a contradictory statement regarding Lily Evans (the one of this world), though Evan did reply properly.

The initial comments were even, perhaps even a bit innocent sounding, and then he went in for the kill. "I was quite surprised when, three days after I sent my application, my mother's final journal opened. I hadn't known before that Charlotte was related to me, or just how horrible Patricia was about the whole magic thing. It's a good thing I did, though. Can you imagine Charlotte having to go through all of that for three more years?" He knew very well that the man had intended for just such a thing to happen. But he wasn't altogether lying about the journals either. When he collected his things from Gringotts, including everything from the family vault, he found his mum's journals from Hogwarts and after. The journals of Lily Evans-Potter detailed much of what he had said, and then some. If he had been able to get into the family vault before, he wouldn't have had to go through what he did! Evan would have known about the Potter safe houses; he would have known that Regulus Black wrote messages to the Order as R.A.B. and his last act had been to send a gold locket along through Kreacher with orders to destroy it. Instead, Evan stood here, facing another version of the man who destroyed his life. It was the big irony known as Harry Potter's life.

It was a bid for power, all of it. Dumbledore claimed it deplorable that her living situation was such? He put her there, observed her, and did nothing. That was the deplorable bit. And the icing on the cake was the look on his face when Evan deferred to Charlotte, referring to her as _an emancipated minor_. No longer did he have a choker hold on her life. If she needed to do something she couldn't as a minor, Evan was the face of those actions. True, he was manipulating her, but he wasn't as bad as Dumbledore about it. Evan gave her a choice. He was doing what he _knew_ was best, not what he _thought_ was best. He was doing it for her.

The next day was tea, of course. The articles about the trial had come out, and there were several about "the handsome cousin" of She-Who Survived, not to mention Evan's mysterious past that no one really knew. Speculations and damnations! This was all that the Prophet held. In Dumbledore's office he saw a Witch Weekly on the desk and groaned internally. Rita Skeeter had done a piece about how "dark and mysterious" he was, though Evan was pleased to note that she didn't exaggerate his looks. He wasn't that good looking, and he hated that there had been actual articles in his own world that stated the opposite. A guy could go for compliments, but Evan knew a bold-faced lie when he read it.

"Professor Dumbledore," Evan smiled in his best sycophant imitation. He had heard the tone plenty of times from Ron before he really became a friend (if he really was – Evan still wasn't too sure), not to mention the droves of people who _adored_ him after he defeated Voldemort. Evan was playing an oblivious student for now, a student with the best interests of his "cousin" at heart and a penchant for knowing things he shouldn't. But still pretending to like Dumbledore... damn, his life was complicated. That was why calming draughts were invented. "Thank you very much for the invitation to tea. I'm sure we have a lot of things to discuss." Like Charlotte's emancipation.

"Yes, sit down everyone," Dumbledore indicated the seats across from him. Thankfully, he had brought out a small tea table, so there was no feeling like a bad student. Either the man knew it wouldn't work, or he really meant to just have a tea and talk (or he just wanted Evan to think that?). "It's good to see that you're all well taken care of," he nodded in particular to Sirius, who, though not using Polyjuice at the moment because it was the Headmaster's office, no doubt looked different from the emaciated and dirty madman the Headmaster had last seen. He looked also to Remus, obviously noting the man's apparent good health despite having the full moon just two days before. "Time is treating you both well."

"Evan is very talented at Potions," Remus agreed with a smile. Evan just snorted and rolled his eyes. If he hadn't had Snape's potions book and caught the patterns in the alterations (which, admittedly, took him quite some time, something he had in spades over the past year), not to mention copious amounts of time to kill between making batches of calming draughts, he would never have managed the potions properly, or to stow up quite so much as he had.

"I see," Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Of course, I was most surprised to find that there were any magical Evanses outside of you, Charlotte. I thought Lily to have died with her whole family." Lily Evans (who had actually married a man by the name of Christenson, though no one other than I actually knew though) had died at 31 years of age with her 33 year old husband and three children (two sons and a daughter) a few months before the Potters were attacked while Voldemort was doing a small campaign in the States.

"I don't know the whole story behind it, Headmaster," Evan conceded quickly, not allowing him to go on, "but after ignoring the idea my aunt seemed to have on my family dying in a car accident – neither of my parents drove after all – I recall spending the night at a friend's home the night they were attacked. Being four at the time, it's all quite fuzzy, naturally, so I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about what I may have been told as a child either, not that anything would have been mentioned." A solid answer, playing on the idea that Evan had grown up an orphan to make Dumbledore pity him without showing any weakness, and stating everything in a stoic way from over ten years' detachment from the whole thing. Most people couldn't remember much from before five anyway beyond perhaps a trip to the zoo or a tiny flash of playing with a ball.

"She was a fine woman, and I have no doubt that your father... what was his name, did you say in your letter?" The manipulative old man was playing the forgetfulness card, likely trying to get Evan to make some sort of mistake... which he wouldn't do. He had spent as much time going over his story as brewing potions, which was very much. He thanked Merlin, silently, that he had managed to unravel some of the compulsions wrapped around him (which was very difficult, because despite the man being a total bastard there was no lying about him being among the most powerful wizards in the world), because Evan knew that one of them made his mind very much open to the Headmaster. Or, he guessed as much. Evan actually had no clue as to how to tell what was on, and it took too much time and effort to try and take them all off indescriminately.

"James Pronghorn," the reply was flat, simple. "And I grew up with his squib sister Petunia, my aunt, and her family. However, I believed this was all covered in my background information, Professor? I'm sure you don't know the details of every student's life," here Evan was subtly hinting to both Charlotte and Dumbledore that he had an unnatural interest in her (if he weren't in love with Grindewald – the Minister for Magical Germany – one might think he was a pedophile or something with the interest he paid to whatever famous Potter was under his thumb) which he didn't think he took in any other student. "Wouldn't you rather get business out of the way first? I could list about a million things off the top of my head that are more interesting than my past." Blatant lie of course, but only noticeable to someone who knew about five minutes of said past. Evan noticed that Sirius, Remus, and Charlotte looked put out at his not giving anything away, but they can't have expected him to start spilling all his secrets to The-Man-Who-Ruined-The-Boy-Who-Lived's-Life, could they? Not that they knew about that.

"If you like. Biscuits?" Dumbledore's face was neutral, but Evan didn't believe for a moment that he wouldn't be seething, or at least annoyed. His eye-twinkling was up to full blast. Evan took a biscuit as it was offered, noting more calming draughts in it. Well, it couldn't really do him much harm since he was currently quite doped up on his own. It just meant he would not have to worry about another dose for a bit. "As you no doubt deduced, I did have an ulterior motive in asking you all here today." Please, insert a sarcastic mental gasp here. Really. "I wanted to defend my decisions for making the Dursleys your guardians, Charlotte, and offer my greatest apologies. I had never guessed that Patricia would do this to her own family."

One who knew Evan's history would think he might flair up at this... but he was rather busy being totally calm and emotionless to really bother with anger. Instead, Sirius stood fiercely, knocking his chair over. "After all Luke said about her? You know as well as I what those muggles thought of Luke, why should it be any different for his daughter?" growled the dog animagus in a manner befitting his form. "And I know you had Arabella watching the area. She even testified against the Dursleys herself! Surely she told you!"

While Evan was considering trying to calm Sirius down (maybe give him one of Dumbledore's spiked biscuits – the only good idea the old codger ever had), Remus had already sat him down, shoving one of the aforementioned cookies down his throat. Evan obviously wasn't the only one to recognize the taste of horned slug guts (boiled in salt water to ease the mind) and the slight tang of the powdered moonstone (which was actually poisonous in any form out of calming potion types). No doubt Snape had brewed the concoction.

"Excuse him," Remus said in a genial tone Evan recalled from the Quidditch Cup. True, he had heard all the less than great words about Dumbledore, but, like the teen, Remus was pretty well in control of his manner (how else could any werewolf go through life as he did?). "He's been pretending to be Australian for the past couple of weeks. He can't help it." While Remus patted the supposed-murderer's head, Charlotte snorted into her tea. Evan wasn't the only one to remember that incident then.

"Of course," Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling (how he managed to do that none would never know, as eyes were just eyes, not windows to any soul, for so much as Evan could tell), which somehow angered Evan. Why the bloody twinkling?! And why was it making him mad through an overdose of calming draught? "I had thought that blood was more important to Patricia. For all Luke's harsh words about her, I believed it to be a simple matter of jealousy that, with the news of her brother's death, would tide over. I knew you wouldn't have a good life Charlotte, not an easy life, but that you should be stronger for it. Truly, I apologize for my err in judgment."

He didn't reply to the question about Mrs. Figg, though Evan didn't point it out. Sirius didn't either, as Remus was continuing to stuff biscuits into his mouth until he was as calm as their usual host felt. Probably not good to overdose a man who wasn't used to it though. Back to Mrs. Figg, the woman was half blind, saw Charlotte about once a month, at times when she would be healed from any mistreatment, and any odd actions on her part would be explained away to the elderly squib as nothing more than the woes of a young orphan. Anything she would report was ignored because Dumbledore needed his weapon.

"However," Dumbledore picked up the conversation after the momentary lull, "I am rather curious as to your emancipation Charlotte." He used her name a lot. Why was he always saying it? Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte... he had done the same thing with Harry actually. Evan snorted mentally. _Harry_. It rhymed with Cheri... Maybe that was how he came to think of that name? "I'm surprised you managed to get your aunt to sign for such a thing. After all, becoming an emancipate minor, through both the muggle and wizarding courts, in just two days is quite the feat." Evan caught a look from Charlotte as she glanced to him from her caddy-corner position.

"Er, well, she didn't," Charlotte admitted. "It turns out they never went in for proper guardianship or adopted me or anything. It's, um, just that in, in my parents' will it said I was supposed to get emancipated when I started Hogwarts if none of their choices for my guardians were available... without an actual guardian it's a lot easier to live without one... er, if that makes any sense." Her normally rosy cheeks were splashed with crimson, soon hiding behind the green teacup and pretending to look at the dragon floating through the china.

"Really now? How interesting..." Evan caught the calculating look in Dumbledore's eyes. What was the old codger thinking, he wondered? Hoping to amend that law, perhaps go back in time to make sure the Dursleys adopted her properly? But... no, any time travel beyond ten hours took a week of preparation, and proportionally longer for the more time one wanted to traverse. Evan had got around the preparation by being the Master of Death, simply taking the train to another universe and time... but Dumbledore only had one of the Hallows, had ideas about the second, and not a clue about the third, as of yet. He wouldn't for another few months. Suddenly, the old man snapped from his reverie and looked to Evan with a smile. He didn't like that smile. "Evan, my dear lad, I've seen from your record that you are taking NEWT Divinations. I was wondering if you would mind reading my tea cup? Dear Sybil has on many occasions, but a fresh eye is always good for Fate, don't you think?"

Surprisingly, this was an instance, though unlikely, which Evan had prepared himself for. He had overheard various conversations between his house guests about his knowing things, their belief that he was a Seer (Charlotte's questioning him accidentally on it the day previous cementing that knowledge of their suspicion), and had researched accordingly, actually reading about the talent. Mundane things like palm and tea cup readings were actually things that any magical person could do, if they knew what to look for, and his little clairvoyant moments would be self-explanatory.

"Of course Professor," Evan kept his tone light, in complete calm sycophant mode. He turned the cup three times clockwise (Trelawney's command to go with counter clockwise showed lies almost exclusively) while it drained, and when right side up he started with the part in the one o' clock position (assuming that the handle was twelve). "A crescent moon... waning. It represents a flagging in the strength of light, or a rising of the dark. Likely a Dark Lord or something of the sort." Two o'clock. "The falcon. A deadly enemy is close to you, and may be used either to flush out your foes or else will betray that trust." Three. "A little Christmas tree... a savior comes..." Four. "... but the broken crown just touching shows that the government will not let the savior do as they will. Here's a sun, meaning good fortune, though short termed." Phases six through nine were just sludge and ignored. "This large one here spans two phases, a very prominent sign. A fallen cross for trials and hardships in your future." The final sign was on the twelve exactly. "The trickster's spinning wheel. It seems you will never be rid of pranksters."

Evan returned the cup to Dumbledore's waiting hand, glad for the wit sharpening potions... actually, potions in general. Without them he would be an emotional wreck living alone on the streets and likely sent to St. Mungo's or a muggle insane asylum. He had three or four compulsions of calming to thank for that too, he was sure, but mostly the potions. Back to the wit-sharpening though, if he'd not had them on hand while studying for his little cover story, his life would be a lot harder, especially in Trelawney's class. Sure, no one believed a word she said, but having her say he had no talent in the field when Evan was pretending to be a Seer wouldn't be a good option. Actually, he was probably already better at the subject than that barmy old woman, since she only actually memorized the signs of death, while he had, at least, gotten most of them down.

Dumbledore was obviously impressed, and rightly so. It was damned hard to remember all those stupid little symbols, not to mention knowing the slight variations between things like the hawk and falcon (hawks had sharper beaks and falcons were smaller), so he had better be impressed. He knew now that Evan had at least some skill in the "art" of Divination. Now he would have to get Dumbledore alone and convince him to tell Charlotte the Prophecy. There could be some difference between the one here and Evan's own, and he couldn't risk giving her false information. However, he was positive that it would at least start the same, something he could bluff the old man with. If he believed Evan was doing it so that she'd not hate him (he was pretending to like the Headmaster after all), there was a good chance that Evan would be able to get him to reveal the Prophecy in its entirety. No doubt she would be better off with nearly two years of knowing the Prophecy than her opposite number had.

"Quite the reading my boy," Dumbledore murmured, bushy white brows tucked into his hair. "Sybll normally doesn't pick most of those up, and she's been in the business of Seeing for some time now."

"Yes, well, she's had two true Prophecy, hasn't she?" Evan fought down a smirk at the thought. His bringing up Divination was really a window. "One just two months past and the other three months before Charlotte was born, isn't that right?" Sirius and Remus' heads snapped toward him while Dumbledore's eyes widened. There, Evan had showed the first card in his hand. What would Dumbledore play to counter? "She did inherit her great aunt's gift, though a shame she only got the power of Prophet, and not that of a Seer."

There were three degrees of those proficient in Divination, as in those who could truly see the future, not just looking at lumps of soggy tea and seeing pictures. Prophets would give Prophecy, but never remember, and could never be told of their true skill. Normally they would have a vision roughly once every seven years, though it was usually in private, therefore never acted upon and so untrue. In addition, they could pick up the subtle hints of body language to know what a person was like. Neville was nervous and would break tea cups. Hermione was tenacious, but didn't have any respect for the wooly art. Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived, and _obviously_ going to die. Seers were the second level, and could literally see visions of the past, present, and future. Evan was pretending to be this, because of his knowledge of generally what was going on. Sure, the weird gender changes probably affected some things, but the plotline of Fate wouldn't be diverted so easily, he was sure. It was, however, _Speakers_ who were truly gifted. They were people whom the Fates had deemed worthy to carry all their word to the reaches of the world, usually made into a religious figure by their words.

Dumbledore looked slightly blanched, and even through the way-too-much calming draughts, Evan could barely help to keep the triumphant smirk off of his face. A chocolate biscuit was soon being eaten, and the triumph ebbed. Good. No emotion, he couldn't have any emotions when dealing with Dumbledore. That was practically suicide.

"I was wondering, sir, if next year I could take up a one-year apprenticeship with Professor Trelawney?" He could have sworn he saw Dumbledore's jaw dropped. They were all shocked, naturally. Charlotte had no clue what Evan was talking about, Sirius and Remus doubtless wondered how the boy knew what he was talking about (for they knew that there was a prophecy concerning Charlotte and Voldemort, though beyond that nothing), and Dumbledore no doubt thought that he had a true Seer on his hands, able to See what his true machinations are. Evan wasn't going to waste the element of surprise. "As Headmaster it is your final decision if a teacher may take on an apprentice while working here, and I feel it would be prudent if I were to be near Cheri for the coming years. I would ask for an apprenticeship to your Defense position, but after Moody leaves the position is likely to go to the toads if you know what I mean."

The Headmaster soon had his wits about him again and coughed into his hand as if his expression (which was likely caught only by Evan) was merely due to a small chest cold or some such thing. "I see no reason why not. After all, I'm sure Sybil wouldn't mind having someone to help during classes. Charlotte, Sirius, Remus, do you mind if Evan and I discuss this for a moment over there?" Good, he had Dumbledore anxious. He wanted to know his future, naturally, and thought Evan should give it to him. He wouldn't.

By the leave of the Marauders and Marauder spawn (well, one Marauder's spawn, but they didn't know that James Potter even _existed_ now did they?), Dumbledore rushed the second Marauder spawn off to the opposite corner, quickly setting up an Imperturbable Ward around them. The twinkle was replaced by a glint. No longer did the light flicker, but it held as easily as Fawkes did to his stand merely three feet. Evan wanted very much to take the (currently) young Phoenix and shield him from what his familiar was like, but, well, the bird had bonded to the man, not the other way around. Poor thing.

"Sir, I am to say right now that I will not tell you your future," his face fell as this was proclaimed. "However, I will tell you this; stop putting off telling her about that Prophecy. With all due respect, now she knows the extent of what you have done to her life, Cheri will no doubt bear a grudge against you for it. The best remedy for that will be to let her know why you've done it. The knowledge that she will never have to deal with those people again will already have softened the subject. But... if you don't tell her today, I will have to. The Triwizard Tournament doesn't bring all good things, and she will have to know what Fate has in store for her before it comes up. Please sir, she's all I've got. It'd devastate not only me, but the entire wizarding world if she were lost. You understand, don't you?"

Oh _Merlin_, begging him like that made Evan want to gag! But he had to. Sweet Circe, he _had_ to! If he didn't play this right... well, there was no other way for it, was there? He had to be sure that Charlotte got the right Prophecy, that he didn't screw everything over. Dumbledore would see the reason behind the words, know that it was no idle threat Evan made, and act accordingly. After all, what better way could he see to gain back her trust than by telling her such a secret as he wouldn't have told otherwise until her own Godfather _died_?

For what may have been the first time in Evan's life, when the old man looked him in the eyes it was shrewd. His legilimancy probed shields, but drew back. Evan was no longer a sycophant in Dumbledore's eyes; he was an unknown entity, though light, likely even an ally, and not about to bend over backwards to do the bidding of the Light Lord. Evan Pronghorn was not the same man as Harry Potter. Evan had no emotions, Harry too many. Harry had no family, and Evan had found his. This Dumbledore had to see that he wasn't as complacent as the beaten Boy-Who-Lived. There was no other way he could allow any of these machinations to pass.

"I will consult Sybil on taking an Apprentice," he said finally, dropping the wards. They returned to the table, and though Evan couldn't feel the triumph (that last biscuit was kicking in), he smirked with it regardless. He had to show something about what had happened. No one could know exactly how spaced out he was with the calming draughts after only two biscuits and half a cup of tea, even spiked as they were. Sirius might be stoned out of his mind by then (or at least looking it, though the man was quite the actor), Evan knew he wasn't experiencing half of what the teen was. Perhaps overdosing so badly that it was like he was taking a Draining Draught (which drained the person of any energy going to the emotion centers of the brain, usually resulting in brain damage) was a bad idea.

Then Dumbledore told them the prophecy. There were only one difference: "The Dark Lord shall mark Her as his equal." That either meant that another girl shared or had the potential to share the fate (she had mentioned Neville Longbottom was in her year, so obviously not any girl-Neville) or else that Cheri was always the only choice. Evan didn't know of anyone else... but, then, who knew? The Marauders had been stunned at the revelation. This was the prophecy that Luke and Josie had kept from them. But Charlotte just sat, stunned and staring at her hands. And understandably so! True, she wouldn't rant and rave. She wasn't an emotional wreck because she had spent a year reviled by thousands and seen her godfather killed. To her, this was just a revealing of fate. This wasn't some sinister plot to keep her mind off of death or to pile the world on her shoulders; it was letting her know what fate had in store for her, and with three people who, at the very least, liked her quite a lot around her to know she wasn't alone. Evan hadn't even had that, and perhaps he envied her for it... but certainly not begrudged.

"Thank you Professor," Charlotte finally said, looking up from her hands, a fierce light shining in her eyes. It wasn't anger like he had felt, or the fear which came after. Just determination. Charlotte Potter wasn't going to let Voldemort or Dumbledore get her down. Life would go on, and until Voldemort was back (Evan added re-finding the horcruxes to his mental checklist of things to do in the next year or two) that's how things would be. She was living, and Voldemort was hardly surviving.

And just like that they left. Sirius went with Charlotte out to the paddock to visit Buckbeak, Remus went to rest (the full moon had been but a couple of day previous after all), Evan went on a cleaning spree. It was so mindless, so automatic, that he just fazed out of existence. He didn't have to think, hardly even existed. There was just a cloth rag dusting the lamp shades, a sponge scrubbing at the pots he would need to make dinner. Not even the worry of the house elves could bring him out of his stupor. Here he was in his element. No thought, no feelings, just knowing that if he didn't hurry than Uncle Vernon would skin his hide and pressing on. No pain when he cut his hand on a knife in the sink, no worry about what would happen if he burned anything.

Evan was in his quiet place, and nothing could draw him out short of Voldemort himself.

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**A/n: If you didn't notice, Evan is very out of it. He is addicted to calming draughts. Oh noes.**

**Hm... took me ages to write this. Course, until this past week I was writing maybes a sentence per day since I started it. Maybe I'll write more? I did do 3k words of this in the past two days... who knows?** **Aside from that... not a lot to say. Just court stuff (which I **_**warned you**_** that I couldn't write) and tea with Dumbles, maneuvering, etc. Well, and background on my Seer stuff.**

**Potions information inferred or else from HP-lexicon(dot)org**

**Edit: put into full third person. See chapter 7 author's note if you care as to why.**


	4. Truth is a Weed

Nunquam Somnus: Never Sleep

**Words: 8,837**

**Disclaimer: Own not, profit not. If you recognize it, darn good chance it isn't mine. Not for the closed minded. And it's only as canon as I want it to be. So nyah. Spoilers from all seven books, plus made up stuff where I don't like what they have. A bit of a "Super Harry" fic, in that he is competent. And yes, I am very much female.**

**Warnings: Spoilers from all books. DH and HBP ignored sometimes (such as in the cases of the Happily Ever After, Harry not taking the Elder Wand, he actually learned how to do wards and stuff from Hermione (as in not dumb enough to think that there was no chance she could die/get hurt while he was still alive), he's competent, etc). Dumbledore and Prewett/Weasley bashing. Mixed up genders. Mentions of child abuse and sexual abuse. Extra characters, mainly minor. Some characters have different names. May be more warnings in later chapters. Impolite language. Same sex pairings. Sort-of drug abuse.**

Pre A/n: Lots of summation of facts in this one and the history behind Evan's names being discussed. Just had to get this stuff out there (like Evan's history and what not). I've always been of the school that though Sirius is brash and impertinent, he's not dumb. Just terribly Gryffindor. Thought I'd toss this in before starting. Oh, and I'm introducing parseltongue to the story now.

"Ƨ _parseltongue _Ƨ"

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

_Chapter 4: Truth is a Weed_

"_If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end; if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair." C. S. Lewis_

Charlotte blew out a puff of breath as she patted Buckbeak. It was chilly that morning, but she didn't mind at all. The cold air made it easier to think, kept her head clear. Tomorrow she was leaving the Stag's Sanctuary until the Christmas Holiday, and even that was iffy because of the Yule Ball that Evan had claimed would be on the day itself. It had been a dream, the past month. She had her godfather and honorary godfather with her, always ready to entertain (even though Remus claimed he was _not_ moving in, he had only stayed at his own house about five nights all month and had been entrusted as the house/dog sitter for the coming months). She had a cousin who wasn't an evil git. For the first time in Charlotte's memory, she had a _family_.

Even with the moments during the World Cup when she had worried about Evan's wellbeing (he was only eighteen, not old enough to go off dueling Dark wizards, surely!) and the revelation of a prophecy hanging over her head (that it should come down to her and Voldemort in the end was horrifying, but she would try to be ready) the summer since her birthday really had been as a dream. Sirius was safe, Remus had a steady supply of Wolfsbane, Evan seemed happy enough, and she was free of the Dursleys.

Buckbeak lay suddenly on the ground as the sun peaked over the trees and one of the two horses (a palomino mare) trotted past in the sudden light. A calm sigh followed Charlotte as she too sat, though she shifted quickly as something cold and smooth touched her ankle. A glass phial, a small cheap one at that, was soon in her hand, the final drops in the bottom, blue, telling her what she needed to know. Evan's calming draughts.

There was a distinct pattern to his drinking of them, she had noticed this after he had let her see him take an extra during the trial. It was a weird pattern at that. She noticed that he took one after breakfast if there was bacon, a small sip at the sight of her and Remus playing chess, a larger sip at seeing Remus and Sirius together (perhaps he was a homophobe?), and he almost always took one the first time he was seen during the day. She had Remus and Sirius on the look out for the small phials of blue liquid since she had realized what was going on, and found out he usually had at least eight in a day, to her knowledge, the current record being on the day of Dumbledore's interrogation (having taken four throughout out the day before they came, munching on more of the potion-laced biscuits than Sirius had had – which had been an overdose for the man - and having several after the meeting).

And those were only the times he was caught. Both of the older men living in the Sanctuary and Charlotte woke every morning after Evan (with the man in question having been up long enough to prepare breakfast and look quite awake) and went to bed before him. The night before, Charlotte had gone downstairs for a glass of water somewhen around two am and found her cousin was still awake, a tune being hummed from behind the door to the mysterious office that no one outside of Evan himself had been in (and she had been awake since then, fearing having another nightmare of Voldemort in the muggle mansion like the one which had woken her to begin with). Not only that, but Evan was in that office quite often, for hours at a time on occasion. Every so often Charlotte would hear voices from behind the door – a kind sounding man with a constant laugh on his tongue and a woman with a chuckle like glass being those heard most often, though once Remus swore he heard _himself_ from through the thick pine door – but hadn't asked after them. While she hadn't been eavesdropping per se, she never knew what Evan would do about anything.

After another half an hour of wistfully stroking Buckbeak and thinking about the many mysteries of her life, Charlotte left the "great brute," as she recalled Malfoy calling him, for the indoors. It was half five by then, and a semi-reasonable hour to be awake. Maybe she could return the favor of breakfast to her cousin, as his late night no doubt meant he would sleep in. Five minutes later she entered the back way that led to the back fields from the kitchen, immediately surprised to see Evan was already up (or perhaps he hadn't slept at all) and cooking bacon.

Never had she actually seen him cooking (well, excepting when he decided to "experiment" with beef and lemon a week into her stay, which had actually been awful and the reason that Remus was broken of his "pizza-virginity" as Sirius had put it, and the simple dishes while camping for the Cup), and was surprised with what she saw. Blank. Even when Evan was completely calm, he never looked so emotionless. Half-lidded green eyes slid from pan to pot, hands gliding effortlessly around the counters to chop onions, cleaning his mess as he went. It was compulsory, the exactness that ran his movements in the kitchen as he did everything in a way that belied years of experience in the kitchen. That, however, wasn't what struck Charlotte. It was that when the door at shut behind her, Evan had barely acknowledged she was there, and then not even that it was her.

"It'll be ready in a minute Aunt Petunia," Evan's voice sounded almost fearful... but was that right? He hadn't shown fear of anything before... but, no. Evan _was_ human, and all humans feared. That was what set them apart from Voldemort, surely. The man had forgotten what a healthy dose of fear could do for a person and that had led to everything. At least, that was what Charlotte thought. And there Evan was, gliding around the kitchen as if he were... well, like her. The line was much the same as what Charlotte would say when her own Aunt hung over her shoulder as she made breakfast, just replace Petunia with Patricia and it was the same.

"Evan?" She murmured carefully. It was a mistake as the knife (when had Evan picked up that knife? He was over by the eggs!) slipped from a slack hand and fell point down, stabbing through Evan's slipper (a giant grisly bear foot). Naturally, Charlotte shrieked, thinking that she had made him stab his foot, though there was, luckily, a lack of blood. With the increasingly odd teen out of his stupor, the knife was pulled from the ground (and the front bit of the slipper that was a couple of sizes too large) and being cleaned in the sink. "I'm so sorry Evan! I didn't mean to startle you!" It was a scare, yes, but luckily no one was hurt.

"It's okay Cheri," Evan waved the concern off, just like he did most worry or positive mention. "It isn't your fault; I was spacing out I guess." Already the tear in his furry slipper had been repaired with an idle wave of his wand, the knife back in his left hand, suddenly dry, and his wand poking at the eggs a moment before it was all put on the plate he pulled out from Merlin only knew where (no one was quite sure as to the organizational system of the kitchen other than the house elves and Evan himself). "Do you want pancakes this morning? I'm sure I've nothing on the Hogwarts elves, but they don't make blueberry, do they?"

It was all so normal that Charlotte almost screamed. She had come in, startled him, almost gotten him to chop off his toes, and he was acting completely normal about it! Still, she replied with a simple, "Blueberry pancakes sound lovely," and stood awkwardly in a corner of the room. Why should he already be up? And the small phial on the counter – better quality than the one from the field as he had the better phials for where he was unlikely to lose them, not wanting to have to buy out an apothecary of them – was still slicked blue on the inside. It wasn't natural to have them so early in the day, was it? Still, she stood by, not wanting him out of her sight. It was only half past five in the morning! Did he get breakfast ready so early every morning? If so, that meant he was awake at least three hours before anyone else frequently. She could only imagine how he would adjust to Hogwarts, as she was pretty sure that the Hogwarts elves would be less inclined to let him help make breakfast than the elves of the Sanctuary, but it was probably a good thing. If he was mistaking his cousin for a dead aunt, it was cause for worry.

When Evan rushed her to the breakfast table to eat, Charlotte started cataloguing what little she knew of him. His full name was Evan Romulus Grimm Pronghorn. Evan because his father was religious and believed that, as their first child, he was a gift of God. Romulus because Lily Evans-Pronghorn had been a History buff. Grimm was explained as needing something to fill in his name with and deciding that the brothers Grimm were as good a namesake as any. James Pronghorn was an American wizard from a family that had been in the States for hundreds of years, the last magical heir of the family with one squib sister. Lily Pronghorn moved to the States to work for the United States Ministry and met her husband there. Evan had had a set of twins for younger siblings named Rose and Eric. All of them had been killed in one of Voldemort's American campaigns not long before Charlotte's own parents were and Evan was sent to live with his aunt because the Americans hadn't known Evan had magical family in Britain.

She knew that when he should have gone to a magical school, his aunt refused to pay and never told him about the money he had in Gringotts. A local wizard had taken up training him, bringing in friends to help in certain subjects that he was less adept with. Apparently Evan liked the man about as much as he did Dumbledore but had still gone without schooling for a year "for mourning." This apparently included a lot of camping, but remaining under the thumb of his only known blood relatives. He had, in that year, opened his family vault and read some of his mum's old diaries, the last opening a week after his arrival in Britain, when he was finishing the setting up of the Sanctuary. This revealed he had family living and contained the correspondence between his mother and her father.

Evan was a Seer who managed to convince Dumbledore with a few carefully chosen words to not only allow him to petition the Divination instructor, Professor Trelawney, for an apprenticeship after he graduated, but also got the old man to reveal the prophecy to her. He had uncanny knowledge of everyone and everything around him, except some little obscure wizarding things, and had obviously had a childhood similar to her own with a bullying older cousin (named Piers, which Charlotte thought had to be a worse name even than_ Dudley_) and a lot of housework with little food, if his swearing by the nutrition potions was anything to go by.

Other than that, Charlotte knew only his little quirks. He was nearly obsessed with playing with his Gameboy at times, got lost in cooking and cleaning, a very good potions brewer, childish about small things but terribly adult about most others, and he obviously had no clue to deal with girls. His clueless-ness about Rhianna's shamelessly flirting with him was evidence enough, even without his stammered moment when he presented Charlotte with the potion to help with her monthlies (if he'd been an redder she could have sworn he would be a black-haired Prewett).

All in all, Charlotte had been living with a strange guy from America for a month and knew nothing about him. She sighed into her pancakes but ate them regardless, not even bothering to wonder at the knowledge of Hogwarts' lack of blueberry pancakes. To be quite honest, she trusted so hard, that it took ages for her to trust Rhianna and Hayden to any extent to begin with (saving Hayden from a troll may have cemented his trust, but not her own), and yet upon meeting him Evan had exuded this sort of aura that made her trust him. She'd only had that from a few people in her life. The Prewett Twins, Remus, Professor Snape (though why was beyond her), Neville Longbottom (however, they almost never talked because of the corresponding shy natures), and Dana Thomas being most of those few. None of these were people she talked to often, and one hated her _very_ obviously, but it was the truth. Charlotte was never quick to trust and tried to fight those moments where she met someone she could. To not be in control of her own opinion of people was a scary thing.

"Do you like it? I can whip up another batch if you want," Evan inquired as he sat down with one of the omelets that he had been finishing while making said pancakes. Charlotte shook her head quickly, keeping her eyes glued to the introspective teen. Why was he making breakfast hours before anyone in their right mind would be up? "Alright. Don't forget to take your potion, Cheri. You'll still need it for months yet." Rolling of eyes and downing of the disgusting potion were the only reply. Sure, it had helped (she no longer looked anorexic and had gained a half an inch in the past month after all), but did it have to taste so vile? Like the Wolfsbane potion (as Remus had explained it), sugar made the potion useless.

The two had breakfast quietly for the next ten minutes before Charlotte stood, yawning a bit. "I think I'll take a nap before Sirius and Remus wake up," She informed the curious cousin before her. "I can probably get a couple hours in at least."

"Before they get up? That seems to be stretching..." he trailed off, suddenly pulling a handsome pocket watch that Charlotte vaguely recognized as the sort that Percy Prewett had been showing off all the year previous. An intricate cursive "FP" was engraved on the back. "Oh. It's really this early? I was sure more time had passed." The watch went away and Evan smiled. "Have a good nap then."

While Charlotte never actually took a nap, she did reappear after Sirius and Remus came down to have another pancake (she realized there were chocolate-chip pancakes and sausage now added to the breakfast feast and wondered how much cooking Evan usually did in the morning). Evan had dismissed himself to go take care of some paperwork in his office and Remus quickly set down his knife and fork to the surprise of those actually eating.

"Today is our last chance to sit him down," Remus sighed. The man was kneading his temples with tense knuckles, obviously deep in thought. The trio had talked about it often enough, wanting to just make Evan sit down and get him to answer questions. His reasoning was always along the lines of it being the right thing to do, and he was generally evasive when answering personal questions. It was ridiculous. Sirius and Remus wanted to know enough about their host to be sure that staying at his house was completely safe (the many safety measures and the fact that everyone who knew to find the house was trustworthy or else squibs who only would go tend the animals a few times a day seemed to indicate it, but one could never be sure) and that he wasn't some psychopath who was going to kill Charlotte. Seeing as how Evan would have had plenty of opportunities for the latter, she doubted its merit.

"Then let's just get him out of that office and into the parlor or something!" Sirius snapped after less than five seconds of silence. The plan was so simple, too simple. They would have to actually get up the guts to knock on the high doors and hope that Evan actually would answer. If he did, it was more than likely he would apparate out since he refused to let anyone even see a bit of the interior of the office aside from the hazy red images from the stain glass window. That, however, only showed a chair off to the corner, which was absolutely _never_ used (it made Charlotte wonder why Evan even owned it as he wasn't the sort to buy something just because he could), and was thus pointless. Before she could voice her opinion on the matter (or Remus could tell him to stop being Cyrus and be Sirius), Sirius snapped. "I don't care if he has the biggest secret in the world in his office, what can he possibly be spending all his time in there doing? All he does is brew Potions downstairs, read, cook, and hang out in his office. I mean, he's a walking bag of suspicion! Even his _name_ is suspicious!"

"How is his name suspicious exactly?" Charlotte was genuinely curious. He was named for religion, history, and literature, wasn't he? It seemed a normal enough theme. After all, a lot of people had multiple middle names. Half the magical people she knew had at least two!

"Evan means the gift of god, but it is also the base for the name Evans, so he was named for his mother's family," Sirius explained. Oddly, Remus looked just as eager about the revelation as I was confused. "The Evanses almost all hated Lily, which is why Lukas said she moved. She couldn't stand living within a day's drive and being so reminded of a family where only her brother and nephew cared. She wouldn't have named her son after the whole family, but probably just Luke or her brother. And there's his first middle name: Romulus. Romulus was the name of the founder of Rome who killed his twin brother Remus in a duel. He was raised by wolves and went on to kill all his living family but his mother and grandfather. And then Grimm... well, not only is that, you know, the _Grim_, but the brothers Grimm were a pretty gruesome pair. If you actually read any of their stories, it isn't something you'd name a kid."

"And Pronghorn hardly sounds like it could be a name," Remus finished, eyes wide as he looked at his lover. Charlotte was generally surprised. Her godfather wasn't dumb per se, but he wasn't the sort to study random little things like that. Though it _did_ explain his fascination with the library a few days before. "Prong means something thin and pointed, so it means a pointed horn. I've rarely heard of family names using that format."

"And we called Jo's," Jo was the name the marauders had called Josephine Potter in school before the Marauders were the Marauders, "older brother Prongs when we came up with the Marauder names because he had registered the year before as an elk animagus. Even though he was only honorary, he was the one who taught us to be animagi. Add to that Evan looks exactly like Jacob Black... well, I can tell there's a lot he isn't telling us. I mean _Merlin_, from what it seems like, he's taken a name from each decent member of the Marauders, sans your Mum, and tossed in a bit of Evans for good measure to pretend that he's someone he's not!"

In an odd way, the whole little diatribe actually made sense. Evan _did_ look just like Jacob, provided he wore his glasses, and the only Evans feature (which was literally impossible to fake magically or scientifically) was the eyes. How could anyone with just an Evans and random American background manage that? And it had been decided that the only potions he took regularly were calming draughts and about two dreamless sleeps per week – the amount just under the danger-of-addiction line. It was no small coincidence about his looks, however, and even Charlotte could tell when she usually didn't think of stuff like that. Such things were usually Hayden's to notice, as a mystery wouldn't really get going until Gryffindor's legendary "Golden Trio" had returned to Hogwarts for the year. This year would obviously not have the usual mysteries.

"Merlin..." Charlotte breathed finally. "I don't get it. Evan just has this sort of air about him that can be trusted, but if even his name is suspicious..." She trailed off, unsure of what else she could really say. She knew both the canine and lupine men knew what she meant. They, too, had mentioned that Evan seemed completely trustworthy, and not in the spell or compulsion induced way that they thought about Dumbledore, but in a genuine "trust this guy, he's reliable and pretty nice to boot" sort of way.

It was instinctual and unlikely to be fought off too easily. Charlotte suspected that even Mr. Prewett had felt that way, but the man was so protective of his brood that there was no way he could ever accept any immediate feelings of trust without backup. The word of one teenaged girl and a werewolf he'd only met a few times through his own older sisters (Fiona and Ginevra were a pair of brave girls often spoken of in the Prewett home) weren't terribly convincing. But she knew that despite all the little things that were off about the older boy, one had to work actively at not liking him for such a thing to happen.

"So we get him out of there or steal him away at lunch," Sirius brought his very simple, but now very tempting, plan back into the conversation. "No Veritaserum – truth potion, Charlotte – as that'd make him not trust us, but we can at least get him to tell us _something_; even his favorite color would be a step in the right direction!" He then flopped back into his seat, picked up a piece of bacon, and stuffed it into his own mouth before it was decided by Remus to do so. Silencing the man with food had become a habit of the werewolf's when he started acting weird.

Dreadfully curious (something that drove her to do immensely stupid things that rarely ended well), Charlotte dismissed herself and went to Evan's office. She listened at the crack of the door, but for once there were no voices, mutterings or anything going at all. Not even the scratching of a quill on parchment that usually signaled that Evan was doing his head-of-family thing. Just complete silence. The door itself was locked with something beyond a simple locking charm, and Charlotte knew that her cousin was very paranoid by now. There was no way he'd have something that could be tampered with from the outside keeping his sanctuary within the Sanctuary just that, meaning that Charlotte had no clue what he was doing. She knocked of course, but there wasn't so much as a surprised noise or "hello" from beyond the doors.

Absolute silence.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

Evan looked at the dilapidated house before him. The cottage had a collapsed roof on one side, that wall having fallen in at some point. On the front door was a snake with an ever-fresh charm keeping it with the appearance of one freshly dead. The Gaunt House looked in even worse shape than its horrendous state from the memory shown to him in his school days, and even _then_ it had looked abandoned. Unfortunately, Evan had only a vague explanation from the Dumbledore of his own universe to go on. No one ever would have thought that a piece of wizarding history lay within that building unless they already knew about it.

With a sigh, the teen stepped toward the door and examined the snake. A quick spell identified the charm as having been set forty years previous, so it was Voldemort's own spellwork. _Voldemort_ had killed a snake and nailed it to his grandfather's door to guard his soul. Evan scowled, looking for anything else to deal with on the door itself. After all, the locket had been protected by a blood ward and inferi, the cup by the goblins and a bloody _dragon_, and the snake had kept the diadem in the place no one would ever even think of it being – Hogwarts – so what was to be keeping him from putting up a lot of very unpleasant things, even if it _was_ one of the earlier horcruxes. With this in mind, Evan wasn't surprised to find dark magicks on the door that he had never seen. He really hadn't seen much dark magic in general.

But taking liberty with assumptions (and chance), he stumbled upon the easiest way past. After several tries at similar methods, he found the proper way to open the door without killing himself. When "Ƨ _Open _Ƨ", "Ƨ _Flight from death _Ƨ" (he was surprised to find that "Voldemort" didn't translate into Parseltongue and then wondered at what language the name was – he suspected Charlotte already knew the meaning behind the name as she was generally more knowledgeable about the Voldemort situation than he had been until after sixth year), and "Ƨ_ I command you to open _Ƨ" failed, Evan eventually figured it out. A visit down memory lane (thankfully Occlumancy, being an art of the mind, made recollection so much easier, even if Dumbledore could use that same recollection against him should he stumble) retrieved that solution for him.

"Ƨ_ Open in the name of Salazar Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four _Ƨ" Evan hissed at the snake. As it lifted its head to nudge to door (what that in and of itself was to do, he don't actually know), he was glad to have gone through such a huge list of parseltongue options before daring to try hexing the door. Said door opened slowly, allowing a quick scan of any further booby-traps in the area. True, Voldemort had been the only parseltongue not up for life in Azkaban at the time of the horcrux's hiding, but one never knew how far that monster would go to protect his soul shards, though Evan had seen what he believed to be the worst of that paranoia.

Thankfully, the way was without anything of the sort. It was simply a house falling to pieces and reeking of dark magic. Nothing dangerous whatsoever. Really. Apparently Mr. "Flight from death" (such an amazingly ironic name that would be forever immortalized in Evan's mind) never even considered there could possibly be any Parselmouths other than himself. Now there were two to spare, so the guy really had more to watch for. A small curiosity sparked as to how Dumbledore had managed to get through, but he supposed it had to do with the Headmaster being one-hundred and fifty-two years old at the time and knowing about half a million more spells than the out-of-place teenager did. The matter flew from his mind as he used a "Point Me" variant to locate the source of the dark magic that permeated the room (for all that remained of the house un-collapsed was the living room/kitchen) and identified the source as a cupboard he remembered vaguely. It was the one that Merope Gaunt had failed to retrieve a pot from without dropping it.

On the very top shelf and in the back was a small box made of ebony and onyx stones embedded all over in what he assumed were runes. A subject Harry hadn't studied in school and Evan's singular attempt to comprehend even the _basics_ behind it had failed miserably. So, standing on the dilapidated counter and staring at the back of a very webby kitchen cupboard, he was faced with a problem. How was he to handle that box? Naturally, he would be taking it into the Chamber of Secrets (a quick sip of calming draught plowed away any residual fears or memories of seeing Ginny dead into the back of his mind) and likely stab it with the basilisk fang that hadn't been used on Voldemort's diary, but getting it out of the cupboard would be a toughie.

But... maybe he'd taken a bit too much calming draught that day. Suddenly, he really didn't care one whit as to getting his hands burnt off or being turned into a lifeless husk by the box. His left hand reached out with a detached calm (for the right kept balance on the slim counter) and he simply grabbed the box, and pulled it out of the cupboard. Nothing happened. With his mind swimming in utter calm that may have even surpassed the near-high he had in Dumbledore's office, Evan found himself in his office again.

How he got there, he didn't actually know. He recalled holding the box in his left hand and getting off the counter, and the next thing he could actually remember he was standing his office, the box was set on top of his trunk, and he was standing in front of the portrait of the Marauders.

It was a simple, if very large, portrait. His parents sat cuddled under an apple tree with Sirius and Remus wandering about as they pleased (Sirius would usually climb the tree or try to lure James away for a quick joke while Remus preferred to study or chat with Lily). Pettigrew was hogtied about ten feet back, miniature Dark Mark exposed as he tried to squirm out of the binding that the painting-Remus had conjured. It was amazing what magical portraits, especially the more modern ones, could manage. The fact that a small library (and a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop) had been painted for the portraits on either side at least kept them entertained a bit better. After all, even though they had agreed to the security of not letting anyone see them, they were still human (by personality) and thus wont to become bored.

"Glad to see you're back, Harry," his mother said, shifting comfortably in her husband's arms. Her hair fell in auburn waves down her shoulders where Evan's dad's fingers played with the ends. Green eyes that matched her son's own to the dot seemed to twinkle in the way that those of many a portrait (and Dumbledore's) often did as their owner's own hands were ruffling James' messy black hair and dog-earing the novel that was held in her lap. "How was your mission?"

"It went alright, Mum," Evan was in his chair, the nice black leather recliner he had set just in front of the Marauder Family Portrait. When had he sat down? "I wasted almost two hours trying to get the door to let me in with various Parseltongue phrases and got the ring from one of the kitchen cupboards. Honestly, I should have thought of using Slytherin's name in my pass-code a lot earlier than I did." Okay, so two hours was a bit obsessive. Most people would have just tried to open the door manually (or magically) by that point. But he _was_ a Gryffindor for a reason. He was Slytherin enough to have patience as well as the stubborn streak was all.

"Well, at least you got it taken care of," James nodded his head sagely, swiftly adjusting his glasses on his nose as they were knocked loose by his dearest wife smacking him upside the head. "Ow! I'm congratulating him!"

"Prongs, just quit," the painted lycanthrope snorted. When the painting had first been located, Remus had asked after Teddy, not a happy subject. As it had been painted years (almost twenty) before, Evan had assumed that he would still be the nineteen year old Remus, not the one in his late thirties that he had known. Telling him that his son had been blown up because he was brought to the after-exams party was not a great moment for the young godfather. "Good job on the first horcrux, Harry. Hopefully the diadem will be no problem as well. Have you considered where you want to be sorted?"

Evan shrugged in a noncommittal way. "Wherever it wants to put me, I suppose. I just intend to ask it to put me where I can best protect Cheri. How the hat takes it is up to it, of course. It may decide that shows loyalty, to want to stand by my 'cousin,' or courage to protect her, smart to want to ask the hat, or cunning to want to subvert any house hierarchies. Or the thing could just decide to take it at face value and toss me where I can do my best to help and protect She-Who-Survived. So, really, there are a lot of ways it can go… and I'm leaving my fate up to a hat." He had never been one to downplay his suicidal side, having long since accepted it. His life sucked horribly, but he lived with it, for better of worse.

James snorted. "Every kid does, they usually just have a better idea of what they want," he stated amicably. "Are you sure you can step into that without prejudice? I mean, you have quite the past with Slytherins, I would imagine Ravenclaw could be an issue after that Chang girl, and compassion for the 'Puffs in general, right? Not to mention you sided with Gryffindor for years."

"I had issues with _Malfoy_ at school, and now he can't beat up on me, nor will he particularly care. No matter my house I can simply divert his attention from Cheri; I already have a plan to sabotage his attempt at embarrassing her with the 'support' badges," a very-explicable calm rolled over Evan in waves as he set the chair to recline properly. Conversation continued, he thought, but everything seemed to go fuzzy as he laid back. The chair was so comfortable, and a slight buzz was going through him, the sound of the ocean rocking him to sleep...

With a jolt, he sat up. The light on the faux window showed it was early morning. When had Evan fallen asleep? Admittedly, he had needed it, very much so after not sleeping at all the night before... but he could see the sun rising in his east-facing window. It can't have been even noon when he had returned from the Gaunt shack, and by the portrait-people on the wall, he could tell that he really had slept for sometime – Lily _never_ splayed books like that while totally cognizant – so what had happened? Going one night without sleep wasn't at all odd for him after all; over the past year he had gone as much as two nights without any rest, and usually only got five hours maximum each night over the past summer due to nightmares, discomfort, or general insomnia. What changed?

Thoughts were shed like snake skin as soon as the robin's egg blue potion flooded him throat, morbid thoughts of the past swept away in a cool torrent. Soon Evan had placed the horcrux's container in the empty compartment of his new trunk, levitated said trunk upstairs to his room to pack everything, and placed it in the special pouch that Hagrid had given him, where he kept his second wand (the twin to Charlotte's) and several other mementos. In the kitchen he decided to let the house elves make breakfast for once. Total blankness was not something he needed just yet either.

Evan spent at least an hour going through the Potions cabinet, pulling out potions that he believed would be a good idea to bring along. Most of the remainder of Charlotte's nutrient potion went into the crate, a good mix of healing potions, and more than half of his supply of calming draughts. The Draught of Peace was tossed in for good measure, given that he could use a third year calming draught for only so long, while the Draught of Peace, at OWL level, was the next logical step up (though the gap between strengths in the two was wide). Rumor had it that he would learn another, stronger calming potion for NEWTs - albeit one that wasn't legal to use without a prescription from a Healer - so he could run away from life a bit longer too. Maybe long enough to take down Voldemort before he had to be put in the St. Mungo's permanent ward. That would be nice.

With small glass phials tinkling lightly together (charmed unbreakable of course), he ascended to the kitchen from the potions lab. The crate was set by the kitchen door, ready to be carried out. Unfortunately, due to the volatile nature of potions, they could not be shrunk. A spare trunk was conjured (with several accidents, but not too bad) and the crate placed properly. That way, no one would question the Potions, and it wouldn't look odd that Evan wouldn't have a trunk because he would, technically. Simplicity was key.

However, after much swearing and magic slinging, he finally had the trunk complete, potions stowed, and allowed himself to walk into the Dining room. Let's just say that he hadn't expected anyone else to be awake before nine.

Charlotte was seating with a plate of bacon and Belgian waffles and having a rather nice chat with Remus and Sirius. How he hadn't heard when he was a few feet away from the kitchen was confusing (until he found out that the house elves preferred to sound proof work areas), but it quickly stopped when they realized Evan was actually around. He realized with a start that he hadn't actually been seen by anyone who wasn't dead or bound to silence for almost twenty four hours. The fact that, to them, he had essentially spent his last day of not being a student in his office which was, at the very least, disconcerting.

"Morning all," Evan greeted finally, feeling slightly awkward. Hopefully, they wouldn't have worried about him.

"We had noticed it was morning, yes," Remus replied, casting a curious glance Evan's way. His fork seemed to have been forgotten halfway between his plate and his mouth, and a waffle dripping with whipped cream hung in the balance. "How are you?"

"Stiff," it was true. Sleeping in a chair, even the cushy La-z-boy, was rather dumb of the ex-Golden Boy after all. "I slept in a chair last night. Just sort of drifted off while I was working yesterday. Nothing a quick potion can't cure."

A strained silence followed... or maybe it was only strained because he felt the sort-of-explicable need to continue the conversation? After all, a silence is only awkward if someone felt they ought to fill it but didn't know how, right? At least, that's what Hermione said. A companionable silence was being quiet because nothing had to be said, but an awkward one was when someone felt it out to be filled with dialogue... or something like that.

"What were you up to yesterday anyway?" Charlotte asked finally. Despite an attempt to be discrete, Evan caught a glimpse of her foot swinging under the table to kick her lycanthropic pseudo-uncle in the shin before taking a bit of waffle. Devious, yes, and she certainly caught onto things quickly, but her methods were terribly obvious. Terribly Gryffindor. "I was wondering if you had any pictures of your parents that I could see. It's always nice to see family, even if it's only in pictures."

Maybe not so obvious as he had previously thought then. Evan's eyebrows had shot up, but as he sat he pulled out his muggle wallet, taking the small picture from the photo slot. A simple picture of his parents, standing together in front of Big Ben. For their Honeymoon, they had actually done the tourist thing instead of anything at all grand. They stayed in the best London hotels and visited all the sites that no one who actually lived in Britain actually went to. All the couple did was giggle, whisper to each other, and on occasion James would kiss his new bride on the cheek while she played with her new wedding ring. What was the harm in showing them a photo?

Charlotte plucked the small picture from her pseudo-cousin's fingers delicately, obviously seeing the care with which he had handled it. Her eyes grazed over the glossy surface and she smiled with a sort of softness that showed she knew exactly why he kept such a picture on him at all times.

"She's beautiful," she finally stated. "Your mother... my album only has pictures including my parents, and none of them have your mother. But your dad is the spitting image of Uncle Jacob from what I saw of his picture. There are a lot of him and my Mum... Jacob Black and James Pronghorn could be twins, you know."

"Any two people could be twins," Evan countered with little thought. It was true – the Prewett twins, Gideon and Fabian, hadn't looked alike but for the general hair color and the height of their cheek bones, if he remembered Moody's photo correctly. "But I get what you mean. A Potter probably married into the family a few generations back is all I can really say; after all, the Pronghorns have been in America since almost a hundred years before you lobster-backs shoved off. Honestly, I never cared to learn the family tree. I know who my parents were, who their siblings were, and any direct cousins I might have, but nothing else." That was about how much he knew about the Potter family tree, so he wasn't lying _per se_, though he knew that his paternal grandmother was a cousin of Sirius' on the opposite side that the Weasleys were most related to. It was no stretch to imagine it was the same, but reversed gender-wise, for Charlotte. Charlus became Charlotte the first and Dorea had become Dorian Black.

Slowly, Charlotte nodded, passing the picture over to Remus and Sirius to look over. Evan immediately caught the flying eyebrows that disappeared under their hanging bangs, but luckily no comments were made. It could have been awkward. After a minute or so, the picture was back in Evan's grasp, then wallet, and the interrogation, such as it was, begun in earnest.

"You know, Evan, I'm curious," Sirius started lazily, eyes glued on his host, "as to what sort of teacher you had. He must have been awfully well rounded, you know, to teach you everything you know. I mean, you're right where you ought to be as a seventh year in most subjects it seems. It's a tall order for one man to teach you."

"He had friends who helped," not a lie; Dumbledore _was_ at least friendly with most of the Hogwarts staff. "An old friend of my mentor's who boarded in his house taught me Divination for one," Trelawney also couldn't _leave_ without his say-so, "when I took interest, and several different people taught me bits and pieces where his knowledge was lacking. Really I had quite a few teachers, and most were rather nice people, or at least insane, nothing big."

Questions were fired for at least an hour, and everything was kept near to the truth. No names if possible. What was his favorite color? Green. What was his teacher's name? Alexander Bumblebee. (Dumbledore, after all, was Olde English for Bumblebee, so it was no stretch, and Alexander had some sort of savior-thing attached to it. Everyone had believed Dumbledore would save them, after all.) The one that came closest to tripping Evan up was when Remus had the insight of asking what state he'd lived in. When he answered "Washington" and was asked about the weather, he was very lucky when saying "cold and wet" turned out correct. His three day foray into New York in early July for some hands on experience of American life (they had huge refrigerators! He bought one immediately) hadn't really helped with that, but it worked. So far as he could tell, they didn't suspect a thing.

Maybe he as being unfair. Remus and Sirius were both accomplished Occlumens, not to mention on his side of the Dumbledore debate. Telling them what he had done that directly related to the Marauder family (not counting his actions which might have caused the rise of Voldemort or him driving the Slytherin house into said Dark Lord's hands) had taken care of that for Evan. But how could he tell someone that he was from the future of an alternate universe where things had gone so badly at the end? In all honesty, he didn't think he could. The premise that they couldn't not tell at least Charlotte about it was his excuse, even if only to himself, but he still knew the truth. He couldn't stand to see the disappointed looks on Sirius and Remus' faces when they realized that in his world he had caused their deaths, that he couldn't even protect an infant _after_ Voldemort fell. There was no way he could tell them.

"It's nearly half ten," Evan said when the onslaught started to die down. "Cheri, you have everything packed?" A nod. "And you'll remember not to pick any fights with Malfoy on the train?"

"It's Rhi who does that!" Charlotte protested immediately, scowling slightly. Evan nodded in response. "Well, it's true. I don't pick fights, look for trouble... anything like that. Fate just has it in for me, I swear!"

_The infamous Potter luck_, he thought with a sigh. Potter's were notoriously unlucky, magnets for trouble and such things. They also usually had someone close to them be a traitor of some sort. _In a way, Ron might have been a traitor... turning his back when I needed him most and driving Hermione away all the time. But he got better... eventually._ Then again, he might have gotten worse after Voldemort's defeat. Evan wouldn't know, as he'd been busy with the Press, his supposed adventuring, and Teddy in the month and a half between the Defeat and the exam party in June.

"Just try to avert catastrophe," Evan replied in a placating tone. "This year is going to be rough, and you don't need Ferret-boy on your case adding on to it. Life is a lot easier without an influential pureblood family trying to bring you down. Besides, bullies get bored when they're ignored."

A pause. Then, Sirius snorted. "Never thought you would be rhyming," he explained after his little outburst. Evan rolled his eyes and stood.

"It's time to go was all I meant before. Come on Cheri, we're apparating. You're trunk is in the parlor, right?" How Evan knew that, he wasn't sure. However, he _was_ right, and he simply followed her to said trunk with the potions trunk behind him. With both trunks secured, Evan was ready.

"I just remembered," Charlotte said with the air of something trifling being brought to mind. "You said the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, didn't you? But..." she paused, "you said you heard about it from a Ministry official, didn't you?"

"Don't believe everything you hear," Evan replied simply. His hand was placed in the crook of her elbow, gripping tightly, and with a slight turn they found themselves at King's Cross.

_Sometimes_, he amended mentally, _you should though. The truth spreads quickly, and so do lies..._ With this advice to himself, he led his counterpart to the train and left to find his own compartment. Sometimes, the truth ought to be avoided. It could be choking. _Like a weed..._

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

**A/n: Jacob Black is a lot like James, personality wise, about ten years older than the Marauders, and was an auror who went on various missions in the late seventies out of country before outright vanishing in '78. The body was found in '86, but nothing could be determined about time of death beyond "at least three years before." As Evan's birth (1976) fits into the bubble of unknown, they would naturally suspect something. Just thought I should toss in that bit of background.**

**Evan is not idle in this life. He owns four of the three Deathly Hollows, probably has access to a fifth if he liked, and being the Master of Death gives a huge advantage over Dumbles, but said old codger is much more knowledgeable and experienced, so he isn't about to press his luck. Evan is hasty and addicted to calming draughts, not stupid.**

**The irony of this chapter: when I was halfway through writing it I got an unsigned review stating the failings of my renaming Evan. I burst out laughing because I'd already written Sirius' unveiling of said problems almost a week before hand (I didn't much touch the story for a week). I realize that "hedatary" won't be reading anymore, but I gotta say, I was laughing quite a lot. My dad was confused as to my sudden outburst.**

**Edit: I've put everything into third person. See chapter 7's author note for details... if you care.**


	5. Sorting It Out

Nunquam Somnus: Never Sleep

**Words: 9,469**

**Disclaimer: Own not, profit not. If you recognize it, darn good chance it isn't mine. Not for the closed minded. And it's only as canon as I want it to be. So nyah. Spoilers from all seven books, plus made up stuff where I don't like what they have. A bit of a "Super Harry" fic, in that he is competent. And yes, I am very much female.**

**Warnings: Spoilers from all books. DH and HBP ignored sometimes (such as in the cases of the Happily Ever After, Harry not taking the Elder Wand, he actually learned how to do wards and stuff from Hermione (as in not dumb enough to think that there was no chance she could die/get hurt while he was still alive, so if he was to go on he better know this stuff), he's competent, etc). Dumbledore and Prewett/Weasley bashing. Mixed up genders. Mentions of child abuse and sexual abuse. Extra characters, mainly minor. Some characters have different names. May be more warnings in later chapters. Impolite language. Same sex pairings. Sort-of drug abuse.**

Pre A/n: if you care to know my reasoning for house placement, it's in the actual author's note. Any Brit-pickers... help would be way cool. I can only learn so much by borrowing the British editions off of a friend.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

_Chapter 5: Sorting It Out_

_"The thing that makes an individual feel odd and outcast in the real world is what makes them special and important among comedians. If the rest of the world championed and encouraged individuality we'd all stop being so self-loathing and fearful of each other, and get along a hell of a lot better too. And I bet we'd all laugh more, too." Paul Provenza_

Taking a seat at the Gryffindor table with her friends, Charlotte couldn't help but feel a bit more the "odd one out" among the other two tonight. Maybe it was her display with Malfoy on the train, when he started bragging about his knowledge of what was happening this year. In all honesty, she couldn't help but to annoy him by mentioning that, yes, the tournament will be great, but no one under seventeen at Halloween can enter anyway. To say the blond Slytherin had been livid would be a bit of an understatement, as he had stormed away red faced at being one-upped so easily. Either he hadn't known or intended to bait Rhianna with the prospect of one thousand galleons that she just couldn't have. Even if the red head probably only hung about with her because of who she was, Charlotte couldn't help but continue to be supportive and loyal to the girl who was nothing of the sort to her.

Speaking of, Rhianna was, even now, flirting with Indigo Brown, one of the boys in Gryffindor for their year. The attraction was understandable, as Indigo was the sort of boy who looked older than he was, tall and lean, and a reserve chaser alongside of Charlotte on the Gryffindor side. However, she really couldn't understand her friend's infatuation with anything on three legs. Yes, boys were nice to look at, but most didn't really have much going on upstairs, or else they were berks... but more often both. Luckily, there were some exceptions like Cedric, Hayden, Evan, and Remus. They were all nice _and_ smart guys. Dumbledore was smart, but very much a berk, and Malfoy the same, sadly.

The side doors opened suddenly, and Professor Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, led the new first year students through the doors, all looking quite soaked. Hagrid, equally water-logged, entered behind her, but before the students, sans his coat which he had been wearing before his boat trip. A quick glance near the front of the entering line revealed a small girl, the wettest of them all, was looking rather bouncy and excited under the monstrous coat. She then waved to the Gryffindors, in particular Colin Creevey, and mouthed very widely "I fell in the lake!"

"That's my sister, Danica," Colin whispered from his seat a few place settings away from Charlotte, who, in the quieting Hall, could be heard about ten feet around. "She's really hoping for Gryffindor you know; you're her hero!" Used to those words by now, Charlotte just nodded, watching as the tail of the line entered the Hall, wondering if Evan would be bringing up the rear.

He wasn't. Instead, Professor McGonagall set the ancient stool down with the far-more-ancient hat on top in the dead center of the gap between teachers and students. The rim opened wide and it began to sing, an interesting thing considering Charlotte had only heard it once. Seeing her confusion, Hayden leaned in from her left, mentioning that the song changed every year, to which Charlotte could only nod. It made sense – the hat needed some creative license after all; spending year after year with only half an hour or so of real use had to be boring.

Soon, names were called. Danica Creevey was soon joining Gryffindor, one of six new lions. Three Hufflepuffs joined the yellow table, seven Ravenclaws, and, as usual, Slytherin had the most new students with twelve (a much higher lead than usual). With the ceremony seeming to be over, most people were ready for dinner, glancing at their plates as if it would make the food appear. However, the hat was not retired for the evening, instead McGonagall stepped forward and around the stool to make an announcement. Strange, considering that was usually Dumbledore's duty – but, then, Dumbledore was not Lord of the Sorting Hat, was he?

"This year, we have a transfer from America," The woman announced, her sharp voice cutting through any muttering in the hall like a knife, unlike Dumbledore's boom that stifled all other noise or Snape's near-whisper that spoke of excruciating pain for any who dared to speak above him. "He has come for his final year on an exchange program to have a more diverse education and will be apprenticing at the school for a year or two depending on his NEWT scores. Now, he will be sorted and treated just as any other housemate by his year mates, I do not doubt. Pronghorn, Evan!"

As if on cue (well he was, but that was hardly the point) Evan strode through the doors, open robes billowing in a way to rival Snape's own, sparking green eyes hidden behind slim glasses. Unlike his rather reserved, near-girlish appearance he had when Charlotte met him, this was an Evan who showed himself as powerful, notable. He wasn't just a stranger with dark hair, he was a potential threat and potential ally to anyone who knew to look. Anyone who knew much about body language could see he was confident – shoulders squared, head high, and leading his strides with his toes while his arms remained at his sides but still loose. It was a perfectly sculpted image meant to portray a man of strength, poise, and a definite threat to anyone who decided to cross him.

In front of the pale stool, he spun on a heel and sat down in a single, smooth movement. With the hat settled on his head, Evan was still a moment, though from her position near the table end, Charlotte noticed his eyebrows rise for a second under the brim of the hat before the brim opened one final time for the evening and called out "Slytherin!" to the waiting hall.

_That_ certainly got Rhianna's attention. When before she had been eyeing boys, now she was gaping and sputtering. Before she could bring herself to speak though, Evan was seated, dinner started, and the noise level back to normal.

"Your cousin... Charlotte, your cousin is a slimy Slytherin!" She squealed in the most distraught voice. "Oh, I'm so sorry for you! And I was so sure he would be the decent sort! I mean, he _cooks_, and he was so nice when the Death Eaters attacked... you don't think he's one already, I mean..." And she kept blathering on while the girl being addressed just stared. Of course, now the Hall was buzzing about how She-Who-Survived had a Slytherin cousin and several things started running in the rumor mill that absolutely weren't true (such as his kidnapping her, or coming to the daring rescue with wand ablaze, and something about leather pants and a purple platypus that she really didn't want to know about, thanks).

After ignoring her failed, Charlotte turned to Rhianna and decided to shut her up. "I have nothing against Slytherins in general Rhianna. I almost _was_ one, thanks, now would you shut up? Your incessant chattering almost made me dip my peppermint humbug in the ketchup," She grumbled, popping said humbug into her mouth without further ado. She scanned the Slytherin table through the collective heads of the opposite side of the Gryffindor table (which contained Danielle Thomas, her boyfriend Seamus Finnagan, and Neville Longbottom), the Hufflepuffs, and the Ravenclaws, hoping to find Evan, but his back was to most of the Hall, something only the most idiotic or most confident Slytherins dared to do. Her cousin _was_ a Slytherin, so what did that say? He was sly, ambitious, cunning... but she already knew that. Evan could lie with the best of them, out Slytherin plenty of Slytherins surely, especially with his muted emotions.

Having the Slytherin option ruined for her originally by the testimony of Hagrid and Rhianna, not to mention Draco Malfoy being a wanker, par usual, she had sluffed it away immediately. However, only two Slytherins had ever given her any _real_ reason to distrust them; Malfoy and Riddle. Malfoy was always a jerk, putting down anyone who he came across, and Riddle was Voldemort. But they were the only _really_ evil Slytherins she had ever met. Even Snape wasn't so bad, he was just bitter because her mother and the rest of the Marauders had pranked him – he was just childish, not _evil_. There was a very big difference.

No, the problem was that this affirmed Charlotte's suspicions. Sure, he _claimed_ that he would just ask the hat to put him where it could protect her, but wouldn't that outcast him if he was her Slytherin protector? Wouldn't it be more pragmatic if he were somewhere that his housemates wouldn't care if he was her cousin or not? But there he was; a football field away and laughing with Warrington over something or other.

"Is he really your cousin?" Parvati Patil asked, following Charlotte's gaze. "I suppose you look something alike, dark hair, same eyes, and you're both rather short, but I thought your cousin was a muggle. I mean, you said he was... mentioned something about a whale too, didn't you?"

"Dudley's the whale, I only met Evan over the summer," was the smooth reply. "Evan is my second cousin on my father's side, from America. I didn't even know he existed until my birthday, to be honest." But she _had_ hoped, hadn't she? Always hoped some mysterious relative would appear and take her away to live in a house just like Evan's – big with a family, horses, and a dog. The fact that the dog was her godfather was a plus, certainly. "He's very nice though, and he helped me with my potions work over vacation. I think I can stand any pop quizzes this year now I've been taught about how certain ingredients react together."

With the meal wound down, food disappeared and the old manipulator stood from his throne-like seat. "Welcome, welcome! Now we are all fed, I have some announcements to make!" Again, as if on cue, the doors smacked open, admitting a hunched man with a roving outsized eye of electric blue, soaking wet black robes, and a face carved by the world's worst wood-carver. From his hip hung a small horn-flask and every second step was a heavy thud of wood on stone that followed his limp easily. Upon reaching the Head table, he seemed to confer with Dumbledore a moment before taking the empty seat at Hagrid's, tentatively taking the suddenly materializing plate of sausages and sniffing them before eating anything.

"Ah yes, I would like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Alastor Moody!" Several people gasped, some muttered, and a few more clapped for the teacher who barely did more than look up from his plate and roll his over-large eye back in his skull. "He will be here for only the one year, I'm afraid, but while he is around, we will have prime instruction from a top ex-auror. The list of banned items, to be found of Mr. Filch's office door for those interested, now has another twelve items added, included Ever-Bashing Boomerangs, Fanged Frisbees, and acid pops. Also, I would like to remind everyone that the Forbidden Forest is just that – Forbidden. Unless accompanied by a teacher, all students are to keep out of the Forest.

"Now, my other piece of news for the evening is far more intriguing, I think. This year, Hogwarts will play host to two foreign schools, Durmstrang Academy of Eastern Europe, and Beauxbatons, the premiere French school. A great honor has been bestowed upon our school, and it is with great pleasure that I announce our participation in the Triwizard Tournament!"

Everyone was immediately clapping, even those who had no clue as to what was going on. Most could hardly believe it, outraged. People _died_ in the Tournament, even in the last one in 1931, when _all_ the participants were killed by acromantulas in the Final Task. Most, however, were ecstatic. The Triwizard Tournament... eternal glory, their name known all over the world... Charlotte already had that, and even if she_ did_ care, she was 14, three years shy of actually entering. A lot of students were about to have their bubbles popped.

"Yes, yes, it is very impressive," Dumbledore nodded, waving his hands in a placating gesture. With the Hall quieted again, voices no longer echoing on the large space, the Headmaster continued. "The Ministries involved have agreed on a prize for the Champion of this year's competition – 1000 galleons," a roar of applause, "also, any contestants in the competition are exempt from exams at the end of year so that they can best prepare for the Final Task, which will take place on the final day of the exams. However, there is a restriction regarding this year's competition. Due to the rather violent past of this particular tradition that we hope to revitalize, an age limit has been enacted to prevent any students who are not of age at the time of entrance from participating."

Here was the outrage! Half of the hall jumped up angrily, the Prewett twins included. Considering they would be turning 17 in April, they wouldn't be allowed to enter, and they obviously took offense at being blocked. While some students who were outraged at the Tournament being reinstated were glad that there were limitations, some of those same angered teens were balking at being barred themselves. Charlotte was among the middle group, as she knew there was a good reason for it. She imagined one of her year mates joining and knew they would all be outdone by the other champions with ease, and likely to die. It was a good idea, and likely not Dumbledore's.

"In addition, due to the time-consuming nature of the Tournament, Hogwarts will not be having the usual Inter-House Quidditch Cup, although team practice is still encouraged for next year's season. I believe that is all for tonight. Prefects, be sure to lead the younger students to your House Common Rooms. Now then, classes begin tomorrow – off you trot!"

Charlotte slid naturally out of the bench, stepping up and over and walking beside Hayden with Rhianna going behind, confused. While riled up be the prospect of foreign students (foreign boys with sexy accents, really), she wasn't too fond of sharing the dorm with a near-Slytherin who just so happened to have a cousin _in_ Slytherin. The fact that the girl had come to think of herself as a snake in lion's clothing lately went unmentioned. They did cross the Hall together, although Rhianna was focused more on talking with Danielle and Parvati instead of trying to talk to her at all. Just as well, considering Evan was waiting up for her at the end of the Slytherin table.

"'Lo Cheri," He nodded, melding into their small stream to the great surprise of anyone paying attention. "I trust your train ride went alright? No ferrets bothering you or anything?" There it was again – ferret. Evan always referred to Draco Malfoy (after he had learned of the boy's existence, or perhaps before) as something to do with ferrets. It was kind of degrading really, like how Malfoy always called the male-Weasleys Weasel, heck he even called Rhianna Weasel instead of Weaselette sometimes, or calling her Potty. It was stupid, childish, and insulting. Somehow, turning the tables on the antagonistic boy didn't seem completely fair.

"Just the one," Charlotte affirmed. "He dropped by our," here she gestured to Rhianna and Hayden, who were now arguing behind her since Evan had dropped in, "compartment for a minute or so after lunch, trying to bait us because his dad broke the rules and let him in on the Tournament, but I kinda foiled that. Had to tell the others a bit afterwards, but it was worth it. We have to go upstairs now – the Slytherins' common room is in the dungeons." Right then, she just wanted to get away, go to bed or something, and think. She knew he was cunning, and ambitious in his plans to eventually discredit Dumbledore, but just how far would he go? Only two Slytherins had ever _really_ done anything to her, being Malfoy and Voldemort, and the rest she knew only by face or reputation; now she knew two Slytherins rather well, and she only liked one.

The rest of the walk to the common room was boring. Some people were talking, Rhianna and Hayden were still arguing (Hayden claimed that if being Slytherin meant someone was evil, why were they allowed in the school, while Rhianna was staunch in her anti-snake doctrine), and Charlotte just thought. Most of the Gryffindors were assembled at the Fat Lady before a Sixth year prefect fought her way through the crowd and declared the password to be "gallantry" and the common room filled up. As the first years always took the scenic route so that they could get a good idea of where places such as the library and bathrooms were, they didn't come in for another ten minutes. Charlotte and the other Fourth year girls were already in their rooms by then.

"So, was that the boy who was at your Hearing-thingy?" Parvati asked faux-nonchalantly as she flipped through a "Witch Weekly" issue. Her things were already neatly put away and she sat in what seemed like terribly small pink pajamas with a cloth rabbit dancing on her legs that occasionally at a backhanded compliment or funny phrase filling a speech bubble next to it. A dark blue twin of the rabbit was making rude gestures at Charlotte from the top. "Rita Skeeter's picture of him a few weeks ago for Witch Weekly made him look older."

"That's him," it wasn't exactly something she was about to refute. The semi-formal dress robes he had picked for Hearing would normally seem odd on a teenager, particularly one with such an odd earring as him. Of course, none of the pictures had been close in enough to catch said earring, but still. It was interesting how the views about him fluctuated in people who knew next to nothing of him. "Evan's only eighteen though, he had a year of travel and independent study while waiting to be a legal adult and became a British citizen just this summer." She didn't mention one of Sirius' suspicions about her cousin that had been based on his accent, in that he _sounded_ exceedingly British, having almost the exact same as Charlotte but for only a slight tilt into an American accent. Almost as if he'd been speaking with one of the British accents and attempted to pick up an American one rather recently.

"Wow, he must know a lot of cool stuff, if he was traveling. Where all did he go?" When Parvati received only a shrug, she returned the gesture. "So, how was your summer? Danielle and I were so busy talking about the Quidditch Cup, I never got to ask you!" She seemed abashed, but one never knew. Even though Parvati was a lot less sycophantic than Rhianna, she and Charlotte had never really talked, though the famous one of the two did know one thing; it was Parvati Patil and Pansy Parkinson who ran the Hogwarts Gossip Mill for their year, from opposite ends.

"Better than some, worse than others," she replied ambiguously. It was a lie, really, considering this was the best summer of her _life_. "Like I said, I might not flunk Potions now, and there were horses. Can't really complain about anything, all things considered." Not that she would mention her godfather, her godfather's partner, or her godfather's niece (an auror by the name of Tonks who had just finished her training) taking her on a shopping trip a week ago. No, those were things she could keep to herself. "I heard you picked up with a nice American boy over the summer, didn't you?"

From there, Parvati filled the room with inane chatter, even Danielle, when she entered the room, simply dozing off in the waves of Parvati's lilting voice. Just as Hogwarts was meant to be.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

_Alright, so maybe confrontations with Malfoy are a really bad thing_, Charlotte thought half-heartedly as a spell whizzed past her ear. She was turning swiftly on her heel, wand already being drawn from her pocket, but just as she was all the way around, _another_ beam of magic went directly over her head and struck her target in the face. Where once an attractive and very mean blond boy had stood, a ferret was trying to run away. Goyle moved to pick up the white rodent, but a growling voice halted him even as the few students assembled laughed uproariously.

"Put that down, boy!" It was the growl of none other than Alastor Moody; he didn't look too terribly pleased either, as he made his way to the center of the hall. With his wand pointed at the white ferret on the ground, he flicked it without saying a word, but the effect was obvious and instantaneous. Malfoy had become the Amazing Bouncing Ferret.

Charlotte watched wide-eyed as the creature squirmed in the air as he was smacked into walls by the Professor who had already come to be known, in less than a week, as the Gryffindor Snape. The man had an obvious leaning to side with the Gryffindors and distrust anyone who wore even so much as a scrap of green or silver. One astute Ravenclaw had observed during lunch that it was odd, considering Mad-Eye had been a Slytherin himself. Others, however, were all to pleased to have someone pick on the Slytherins. Charlotte tended to disagree.

"Accio Malfoy!" She spouted, hoping it would work. Her practice with the spell over break had been shoddy at best, most summoned objects only moving an inch or two, or losing their will half way across the room. Maybe her indignation was what got through, however, as the ferret came zooming to her instead of bouncing on the ceiling as he would have otherwise (though the whip-lash would likely be killer regardless). With the furry being in her possession, Charlotte stomped off in the direction of Professor McGonagall's office. "Of all the low-down, idiotic, antagonistic..." the list went on and on as she verbally spat on her Defense Professor's name.

She didn't get more than a minute away from the scene of the crime before she ran into the woman she had gone looking for. Professor McGonagall was an imposing presence, to be sure, but a far sight nicer than some other professors. Naturally, the Deputy Headmistress immediately noticed the white ferret that was peeking out of her bag and ripping up her Herbology homework questions with pleasure. This caused her to stop before Charlotte had even called out to her.

"Ms. Potter," she sighed, "why is there a ferret eating your homework?" She strode forward and picked up the rodent, removing the parchment from its tiny paws. "He seems injured. Shouldn't you bring him to Hagrid?" It was one of those patronizing questions adults ask children to point out some sort of folly. Charlotte had always hated that.

"He wouldn't be injured if Professor Moody weren't into animal abuse," she grumbled moodily. Before McGonagall could cut her off for insulting a teacher, Charlotte continued. "And besides, he isn't a ferret, no matter what Evan says. Malfoy tried to hex me, and Professor Moody took extreme measures. He was bouncing him on the walls. I figured you could undo the Transfiguration and he could be brought to Madame Pomfrey to make sure our _esteemed_ defense professor hadn't broken anything." She very much did not like that Professor, even if Evan _had_ trusted him with the location of the Sanctuary. That mentality seemed to fit more with a Death Eater like Malfoy's father than a top ex-Auror and Professor.

It seemed that Professor McGonagall agreed with her on this one, because the woman looked livid. She waved her wand, transforming Malfoy back into himself after setting him on the floor. A slightly panicky expression on his pointed face sprouted as soon as the fur had vanished, almost as if he expected his one-eyes tormentor to return. The blond quickly got up to is feet, putting most of his weight on the wall as his eyes darted about, am clutching his side; obviously, he was in pain.

"Ms. Potter, help Mr. Malfoy to the Hospital Wing," McGonagall informed her student determinedly. "I will deal with Professor Moody and bring this up with the Headmaster. Oh, and Mr. Malfoy, for once it is well within you rights to file suit. Physical abuse is not tolerated at this school, not now, nor shall it ever be." With that she strode off, leaving the slightly bewildered pair behind. Charlotte turned to her rival and semi-sworn enemy, ready to figure out _how_ exactly she was to help him, but she was cut off before she could even start.

"What are you still doing here?" Malfoy scowled darkly, pushing himself further up the wall a bit. He did look pretty badly off, a few bruises forming on his sleeves that went up his arm when he lifted it to rub at his neck. Aside from bruises, he seemed fine though, no broken limbs at least. "Shouldn't you be going off to gloat with your pet Weasels and the Beaver?"

Charlotte sent a calculating glance his way before replying. "I was give an order by my Head of House to help you to the Hospital Wing, wasn't I? Not to go to dinner on time and laugh with my Housemates. I'm pretty sure it's only the Hufflepuffs who have some weird code in their speech; you never know what they're up to." It was sarcasm, that last bit, but it was distraction enough for her to approach and heft the blond boy's arm over her shoulder, careful to avoid where she remembered seeing the burgeoning bruises. It was best not to aggravate any wounds, or the boy who had them, in the first place.

Not that she _could_ avoid aggravating him personally, but it was the thought that mattered, in her opinion. She was off and walking without bothering to count on him for any help in the effort, though pleased that he didn't make her drag him. If he had, she would have just levitated him, leaving the spoiled pureblood to kick and scream all the way.

"This is degrading," he grumbled when they hit the first stairwell and he stepped on the bottom stop, seemingly careful of his left ankle.

"What, being helped, being helped by a _girl_, or being helped by your rival?" Charlotte asked as she pulled him up the next few steps. Honestly, he was being such a girl about it! The boy mumbled some more and she rolled her eyes. "Mind speaking aloud? I'm afraid my hearing isn't so strong that I can hear a fly sneezing in China. Guess I'm just substandard like that." Ah, sarcasm.

"I said 'all of the above,'" Malfoy snapped in return, suddenly straightening his back and pulling his arm from Charlotte's shoulders as harried steps made their way toward them. The steps loomed nearer and Charlotte knew better than to retort, instead pulling the blonde to the top of their staircase with less decorum than the rest of the journey and let go just in time not to be seen aiding him. The quick, heavy steps reached the corner, and with black shoes led by their toes, the figure turned the corner. Black shoes led to dark slacks and a dark green button up shirt both sheathed in an open black robe. With the back being the furthest point from the front, the neck finally led to the face of Evan Pronghorn.

He didn't break his stride until he reached the pair, stopping abruptly. It was almost as if he had convinced Snape to give him lessons in cloak-billowing, because even with him standing the robes had yet to settle properly around his thin frame. Brilliant green eyes flicked between Charlotte and the slightly slumped Malfoy before he perked his eyebrow.

"'Lo Cheri, Ferret-face," Evan nodded in all seriousness. Malfoy was already turned red and looked like he was about to swell up and attack the older student. Charlotte had little doubt that Evan had spoken to him at some point the night previous thrown the name in his face, and tossing it around at that moment was very much a bad idea. "What are you two doing out from dinner?"

"Hospital Wing," Charlotte replied quickly, sending a careful look at Malfoy. Didn't Evan realize what he seemed like when he was unabashedly picking on a younger student like he was? She was forcefully reminded of her cousins and Malfoy rolled into one, except that the mix also included Sirius and her Dad, because he was doing it _just because he could_, not to show he was stronger and better than everyone else. "There was a bit of an incident and McGonagall told us to head up there." A simple answer that didn't place blame or even say which of them would be hurt. If only Evan weren't a Seer!

"Can't handle Moody all on your own, Ferret?" Evan shook his messy head, absently tucking a lock of hair behind the ear that held the strange earring. It was half mocking disappointment and half... well, more mocking really. "Tsk tsk, what would your dear father think, his own son not being able to put up plausible deniability against an Auror. Why, Mr. Malfoy can hoodwink a whole courtroom!" Evan flashed a grin that I didn't return. This was something Rhianna might do, if she had an ounce of Slytherin in her.

"Anyway, Evan, we have to get going," she dismissed easily. "Hospital Wing and all. Don't want McGonagall breathing down our necks just because she finds out from Madame Pomfrey that we weren't in there before dinner." She was already slinking away and dragged Malfoy by an elbow, which he was not happy with. Not getting the last word didn't sit well with him. "I'll see you later."

They were on the corridor to the next stairwell before Evan had moved an inch when Malfoy, even slumped against the wall to rub at his leg a bit, laid into her. "How dare you man handle me!" He seemed terribly peevish about it all, really, but Charlotte ignored his ire. They weren't friends, and nothing he could say should hurt her. That's what Evan had said... but she wasn't terribly happy with him either. "And what business do you have dragging me away in the first place?"

"I'm starting to suspect that my cousin is as much of an asshole as you at times, Malfoy," Charlotte replied. "Now I understand why he kept on calling you Malfoys 'ferrets', but really, that was just cruel what he said. I thought he at least knew when enough was enough." She paused, realizing she was speaking aloud. "Sorry, just venting. Anyway, shall we get going? I'm pretty sure it's easier for Pomfrey to deal with bruises and things early on."

So they continued up the next two floors, Charlotte completely oblivious to the fact that Malfoy had not been rubbing his leg because a bruise was there, but because the one that had been was gone.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

The night before had been... interesting, to say the least. After spending all day locked up in a compartment alternately napping, taking calming draughts, and reading the seventh year defense text that Mad-Eye Moody had assigned (after all, Crouch had only taken over the ex-auror's life only the night before), Evan had been told to take the boats with the first years, though he was only accompanied by a pair of boys that he recalled as one a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff, a chaser and keeper on the Quidditch teams respectively. They were terribly buddy-buddy, and he couldn't help but tell them that Houses didn't dictate who could be friends with who.

In the cove below the school, Hagrid had knocked on a large door. It was promptly answered by Minerva McGonagall, who looked exactly as he remembered her except for a streak of gray that wound into her bun from her right temple. She brought everyone upstairs, gave the standard speech, and said Evan was to enter when he was announced so that no one would be distracted from the Sorting to wonder why there was a seventh year up front.

So, when he was called, he came and sat under the Hat. It didn't even let Evan get a word in edgewise, gave a message reminiscent of what he recalled from his first year, and stated that he should go easy on some people... who was he supposed to go easy on? He really didn't care and joined his new House with a friendly (but respectfully distant) smile. He was a Slytherin at heart, but that didn't mean he had to like the company. The rest of the evening consisted of eating, making polite conversation with the snakes the Sorting Hat had seen fit to surround him with, a quick conversation with Charlotte before she went upstairs and he descended to the dungeons, and a quick tutorial on how to reliably find the common room (the password being "Serpensortia").

Begging off of conversation, Evan had gone down the first level of boys' dormitory stairs to the Seventh year rooms (theirs being the highest level so they had to walk least with their heavy book-bags), taken his trunk from the pouch tied to his hip, and unshrunk it to place at the foot of the only empty bed. Green silk pajamas were taken out from the part of the clothes compartment that held them (he had bought pajamas for each House's colors... mostly from boredom), grabbed his old Holly wand from the pouch, and retreated to his bed. He might not be able to use two wands at once, but they made him feel safer, if only marginally.

The next day he had gone up to breakfast with his uniform robes open (he couldn't run with them closed) and wearing pants and a nice green shirt underneath to avoid any possible breech in dress code. Breakfast was standard Hogwarts fare, schedules being passed out and whatnot, and Evan was pleased to note he had all afternoon free while the braincases were off in Ancient Runes. He had packed for any class, so he didn't have the dilemma of having to get back to his room for his books, and left, throwing a "ferret" comment at the fourteen year old Draco Malfoy who was holding court among his year mates. With a miffed Malfoy behind him, he stalked off to Potions.

The dungeons, too, were just as Evan recalled, as he waited outside the Potions room to be admitted for class. Heading to Potions early... if he hadn't spent all the past year learning just how important Potions really were, he might be a bit disbelieving, but he _needed_ them. He needed his calming draughts and Sirius' Polyjuice in stock. He honestly felt he might be moving onto heavier calming potions soon if the standard stopped being as effective for as long. Maybe a diluted Draught of Peace, or a watered down Euphoria with a smidge of peppermint? He shook it from his mind. If Snape tried to take a peek, he would have to concentrate on his Occlumancy.

After a few more people had arrived, the door opened and they entered. Just as he remembered from his sixth year lessons with Slughorn (except a bit more Snape-ish), there were several cauldrons lined up in the front of the room with potions for the first day of term. Evan's eyes flicked from one to another quickly, trying to identify them. One appeared to be a Potion to Induce Euphoria, and he was certain the one off in the far corner was an almost archaic false basilisk venom (the closest Potions Masters had ever been able to create) that was covered in a bubble head charm to keep the volatile scent from the room... but most of the rest were a mystery. A dark blue concoction sat in the middle, a corn yellow six feet away, and the potion opposite it was a murderous shade of purple. The last one, in the near corner, looked familiar... the poison he had been told to remedy for Slughorn that was easily cured by a bezoar. So Evan knew three then.

He sat in a seat off to the right side of the small cluster of tables set up for the lesson, in the second row. Three Ravenclaws sat in front of him, and over time two Hufflepuffs and another Slytherin appeared to fill up some of the remaining seats. As predicted, there were no Gryffindors in the class. Not all of them were masochists as Hermione, Ron (who had only taken the class to have all his classes with the other boy), and Harry had been to take Snape's abuse, Evan guessed. Or they just sucked at Potions. Whichever.

The door to Snape's office slammed into the wall when he opened it, walking to the front of the room with his cloak billowing around him per usual. He, too, was just as Evan remembered. Severus Snape was tall, thin, and greasy with a small black goatee and black beetle eyes that crackled with some unpleasant rather than Hagrid's good natured ones. Watching him spin on the spot, with his cloak forever moving about him and the greasy clumps of his hair touching his face, the teen wondered how he could live like that and what exactly made this Dumbledore trust him. Snape wasn't going to end up having been in love with Charlotte's dad, was he? And certainly not his tormentor Josephine Potter... it was a mystery.

"Assemble around the cauldron on the far left," Snape's vicious near-monotone broke Evan's reverie. "Bring your wands, in case of an emergency, nothing more." The class assembled around the false basilisk venom, everyone crowding a bit close. They didn't know what it was then. Evan stepped a bit more off to the side, keeping a wary eye on it. There was a reason it had been cordoned off, and it wasn't because Snape thought they would ruin it by trying to take a swim. "Who can identify this potion?"

When no other hands went up, Evan raised his with a resigned sort of feeling. "It's a manufactured version of basilisk venom created in the 1800's or something like that," he answered, at once pleased and kind of saddened that he didn't sound at all like Hermione when he said it. She had a way about answering questions that made sense. Evan just sort of... babbled. "The project was tossed out when the researchers found out that it was too acidic, but they couldn't use something to tone down the acid or it would become pretty much useless for study... or something like that." His voice had gone down to a mumble near the end as, under Snape's scrutinizing gaze, he suddenly felt like he'd gotten the answer very wrong.

"That, Mr. – Pronghorn, was it? – is mostly correct. Five points to Slytherin," Snape had his eyes narrowed. Maybe Evan wasn't supposed to answer considering it was a mostly classified potion that was in a book in the Hogwarts restricted section, the part meant only for the teachers to use. "The venom was created in the _1400_'s and was abandoned due to it being too _basic_ to function as proper poison. Also, it was, in those times, still legal to breed basilisks, so the potion was redundant." He almost seemed miffed. "The only countries it is legal to brew this potion in without a permit are Germany, Venezuela, Zimbabwe, South Africa, Papua New Guinea, China, South Korea, and certain parts of the United States. I have brewed a sample for study of the functions of man-made venoms that will take place in October. Go to the next sample."

They moved to the right of the room, to the yellow potion that was bubbling merrily without any flame, and entering its space made everything go terribly cold. Evan was soon wishing he'd brought a scarf with him as he could see his own breath. Hadn't it been a comfortable temperature just moments ago? Everyone else around this cauldron, he noted, was feeling much the same effects as the Hufflepuffs seemed to be dancing and shivering.

"Can anyone identify this potion?" Snape's eyes moved over the assembled students swiftly, eyebrow perked. "No? This is a liquefied Essence of Dementor's Breath with a cheering ward around it to keep you all from becoming even moodier than teenagers are already known to be. It was created in 1346 with the intent of having an easier way to subdue prisoners between court and Azkaban to prevent the need to bring the foul creatures to the Wizengamot by having a man ingest a single drop. This project was scrapped when it was found that a man who drank any of this potion became immune to a real dementor and took on aspects of them. They would eventually lose their soul. We will study this potion and its ilk in November. Next cauldron."

Next was the blue, the cloudy color of twilight. The potion itself was opaque, but every so often there seemed to be something moving underneath it even as the surface lay undisturbed. A small splotch of a paler blue bled through suddenly and covered the potion, now making it sky blue. It was... interesting.

This time, when Snape asked for someone to say what the potion was, a Ravenclaw raised her hand. Evan didn't recognize her, but he never had paid much attention to students out of his year or House. "That's a Time Draught. When ingested it gives the drinker the knowledge of what time it is to the nanosecond for roughly three days. Otherwise, it shows day phases, changing several times a day to have two phases of sky blue for day time – one four hours and the other six – separated by a one second flash of white for the sun reaching its zenith at midday, and two cycles of twilight blue for the night hours – one being six hours and the other eight – separated by a flash of pure black for midnight."

"Ten points, Ms. Kaiser," Snape nodded. Evan blinked in surprise, never having heard of Snape awarding points outside of Slytherin, but reasoning that the man didn't actually have anything against Ravenclaw. They got along with just about anyone despite it being Hufflepuff who were friendly and open-minded. "This potion has been around as long as potion making has been, and will be part of our January project. Next cauldron."

Snape had the students skip the Euphoria that sat in the front of the room and instead move on to the rather scary looking purple potion. The color reminded Evan too much of the Sectumsempra, and it appeared to barely be staying in a liquid format, moving about in a near-see-through cloud of malevolent violet. Oddly, it was familiar, and calming, with a scent of peppermint and lavender wafting up to meet everyone's noses in a pleasant array of scents. It definitely didn't _look_ like it should do that though.

"I don't expect any of you to be able to recognize this potion for what it is, as it is a controlled substance across the world," Snape snapped at the small assembly. His hand dipped in and swirled the potion in a circle, leaving it to move like a whirl pool while he flicked small flecks of purple from his pasty hand. "The Draught of Living Death was commissioned in 1679 by a French King who wished to have a perfect performance of Romeo and Juliet, truly giving the actress the appearance of death. It was eventually completed, but its antidote was too complex and that idea scrapped as well. Many who drink this potion never wake up, sleeping for tens of years before they die of old age. Next cauldron."

Finally they reached the semi-transparent venom that followed some law or another, so it could be cured by a bezoar... and that was about all Evan knew. It turned out that it was named B'Grontë's poison, was lethal only to things weighing less than one-hundred pounds, and could cure cancer of the lung if used in the right doses... which no one had actually figured out yet, but it could happen. Snape ordered everyone back to their seats and indicated the cauldron of Euphoria.

"Today we will be brewing this potion. You must first identify it, and while brewing write down the properties in a list format and what ingredients they are attributed to. This is to be turned in by the end of class," Snape ordered. "Begin."

Naturally, Evan was first to start actually brewing the Euphoria, having identified it on the way in. One of the Ravenclaws inspected the potion before starting, while the others scoured their books quickly. He was quite surprised, really. Not only had he been let into Snape's Potions class of all things (he had only received an Exceeds Expectations on his OWL!), but the man had yet to snap, curse, or generally make fun of him in any way. Most likely this was attributed not only to him being a Slytherin now, not to mention Snape not knowing who Evan's parents were (or ever meeting them...). He soon fell into reminiscing as he worked on his potion just like he did cooking, minus the mindlessness. He remembered Snape's memories he showed the teen, how many times he had saved the life of Harry Potter...

Just as Evan was adding the peppermint he felt the emotions piling on and removed one of his cheaper glass phials from his pocket and downed it discretely behind his cauldron as it simmered. There, no emotional breakdowns, no one getting mad at him for overdosing on a highly addictive potion... no problem. Evan was in control. He had the Euphoria bottled soon after and smiled as he breathed in the heady scent of peppermint and potion. Even if Slughorn hadn't fallen for his ruse the first time he had brewed it, he was still glad that the Prince (who happened to be standing at the other Slytherin's cauldron critiquing) had left such good notes in the margins, especially since he could understand the _why_ now.

"Professor Snape," Evan called calmly, lifting the phial and list simply, "what do you want me to do with these?" Snape looked at him oddly, with his table covered in small bits of ingredients remains and his still mostly-full cauldron of perfectly brewed Euphoria, sitting oh-so calmly in his desk. It was almost as if he was familiar to him. Not that he was of course – this was their first time meeting – but it was still slightly disconcerting.

"Set them on the front desk, and I would suggest bottling the rest of that potion, Mr. Pronghorn," Snape said when Evan raised his wand to clear it. "The school likes to keep a healthy supply of such things to deal with NEWT and OWL anxiety; I'm sure Madame Pomfrey would like to have your potion as a contribution to her flagging stocks." To say he was shocked was an understatement, but again Evan reminded himself that he was a Slytherin. Snape complimented Slytherins on their potions, even if they _were_ Harry Potter under a different name... and from an alternate universe... he sincerely hoped he was the only Harry going through this confusion, because he wouldn't want anyone else to have to deal with it. He wasn't a _complete_ masochist after all.

A few hours after lunch, Evan came out of the library a bit miffed. After his perfectly brewed Euphoria was admitted to Snape's desk (and Pomfrey's cupboards), Snape handed out homework. He really should have expected it, considering it was Snape, but he had just come to appreciate that he was a Slytherin, and homework was a bit of a let down. He'd gone to the Library immediately after lunch to deal with it (and look up something for tomorrow's Divination lesson, just in case). But dinnertime was upon him, so he left to tide over his suddenly gurgling stomach (which was odd, as he hadn't been hungry in... well, not for about three days, actually).

He walked swiftly, anxious to get his meal. Evan rounded a corner on the third floor and was more than a little surprised to note that Charlotte and Malfoy (who had a purpling bruise on his cheek that neither seemed to notice, or at least didn't draw attention to) were standing. Searching his mind for answers, he recalled that "Moody" had probably just turned Malfoy into a ferret. Still, why was Charlotte with him?

"'Lo Cheri, Ferret-face," Evan greeted with his usual calm (having taken a calming potion a few minutes ago probably had something to do with that) and his face totally straight. Malfoy was turning beet red, or red for a Malfoy anyway, and Charlotte didn't appear too pleased herself. Probably bamboozled into walking with the stupid ferret. "What are you two doing out from dinner?"

"Hospital Wing," Charlotte was sounding a bit short with her "cousin". What had he done to wind her up? He couldn't recall anything... maybe it was just that time of the month again or something. Or she could be missing Sirius. Maybe Malfoy was being a prick? Well, when wasn't he? "There was a bit of an incident and McGonagall told us to head up there." Why would McGonagall have told her to go up with Malfoy though? Had Malfoy managed to hit her with a hex before Crouch had his fun? Evan decided to downplay it though and just play the Seer card, per usual.

"Can't handle Moody all on your own, Ferret?" Evan prodded with a sarcastic smirk. He tucked some annoying hair behind his ear and gently touched the Hallows mark that hung from that same ear. Always a reminder of just what had brought him so far. "Tsk tsk, what would your dear father think, his own son not being able to put up plausible deniability against an Auror. Why, Mr. Malfoy can hoodwink a whole courtroom!" He grinned, knowing this would aggravate the young man. But he didn't get a chance to hear his retort as Charlotte started tugging on Malfoy's arm.

"Anyway, Evan, we have to get going," she dismissed easily. "Hospital Wing and all. Don't want McGonagall breathing down our necks just because she finds out from Madame Pomfrey that we weren't in there before dinner." They were already halfway down the corridor by this point. "I'll see you later!"

Evan watched as they moved quickly, Malfoy limping slightly. He really hadn't done anything wrong this time that Crouch hadn't repaid him for, right? Evan sighed at his own soft-heartedness and pointed his wand at the retreating form. "Episkey," He murmured. The spell struck the ferret's leg and he went downstairs. Evan had done his good deed for the day.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

**A/n: Right... hi. I'm not sorry it took so long, I was having a nice vacation from life. I am sorry about this long ass author's not though.**

**First order of business... I have a beta now! Very happy author here. So, kudos to Cateagle who will (probably) be starting with chapter six. No longer shall I fall to the demons of typographical errors!  
**

**I said I would defend my choice of House, so here it is. He was not in Gryffindor because what he had done, leaving was not brave, and what he was doing was not brave. He was not defying fear, but simply winging it. He never doubted or anything, he just did. There's a difference between bravery and all that. Not Hufflepuff because, while loyal, he wasn't out to make friends. Not Ravenclaw because he's not out for knowledge. He is Slytherin because he wants vengeance, he is subverting the wills of many important people (and laws)... and it's a good place to protect Charlotte from.**

**I suppose I should mention why I had Charlotte save Malfoy... well, I can go with the standard "it's wrong" or "he was fluffy"... or I can just leave you to guess. I'm partial to the "fluffy" explanation myself. I imagine he was pretty well injured in the book, what with getting smacked around and all, but he had Crabbe and Goyle to help, and then in a crowd he wasn't going to show any weakness. Now it's just McGonagall (a professor who is standing up for him) and Charlotte (who, despite being his foe, helped him, so he's going to show a little respect and not lie about his condition because Slytherins do have their own pride, I think... 'course, I could be predisposed to think such things as a Slytherin).**

**Edit: made everything third person. See author's note 7 for details.**


	6. Defense Against the Divining Arts

Nunquam Somnus: Never Sleep

**Words: 9,412**

**Disclaimer: Own not, profit not. If you recognize it, darn good chance it isn't mine. Not for the closed minded. And it's only as canon as I want it to be. So nyah. Spoilers from all seven books, plus made up stuff where I don't like what they have. A bit of a "Super Harry" fic, in that he is competent. And yes, I am very much female.**

**Warnings: Spoilers from all books. DH and HBP ignored sometimes (such as in the cases of the Happily Ever After, Harry not taking the Elder Wand, he actually learned how to do wards and stuff from Hermione (as in not dumb enough to think that there was no chance she could die/get hurt while he was still alive, so if he was to go on he better know this stuff), he's competent, etc). Dumbledore and Prewett/Weasley bashing. Mixed up genders. Mentions of child abuse and sexual abuse. Extra characters, mainly minor. Some characters have different names. May be more warnings in later chapters. Impolite language. Same sex pairings. Sort-of drug abuse.**

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

_Chapter 6: Defense Against the Divining Arts_

"_We plan our lives according to a dream that came to us in our childhood, and we find that life alters our plans. And yet, at the end, from a rare height, we also see that our dream was our fate. It's just that providence had other ideas as to how we would get there. Destiny plans a different route, or turns the dream around, as if it were a riddle, and fulfills the dream in ways we couldn't have expected." Ben Okri_

For as long as Charlotte had known about magic, there had always been one thing she could count on; her continued interest in Defense Against the Dark Arts. For the past year, there had been a second principle; Divination was boring as Hell. She had always enjoyed the idea of being able to defend herself, to no longer be a helpless girl but a dangerous woman. It was, perhaps, the dream of many humans of the feminine persuasion to want that control of their environment, to be predator instead of prey, but Charlotte always felt her instinct for the subject was bordering on a gift and so lapped it up.

(Well, there was also Snape's continued hatred of everything Potter, especially Charlotte, but that wasn't too much different. The scathing commentary continued; Snape just seemed to _look_ at her more often, as if trying to find something at fault with her... more than usual that is.)

Now, however, she wasn't sure she wanted to. Magic could be used for some truly terrible things, she realized. It was one thing to have a Professor possessed by a not-quite-alive Dark Lord or to have an enchanted diary release a giant, deadly snake on a school full of children. It was even in a completely other realm to have creatures that could suck out a man's soul! No, what got her was the Unforgivable curses. One spell to destroy freewill, one spell to break a man with pain, and one to kill him in an instant without chance of defending against its demonic green light. She didn't allow herself to think again that such a green was, in fact, Evans Green. Avada Green.

Sure, muggles could kill their fellow beings with guns or nuclear weapons, both very painful, but to one who had thought magic the true bastion of Right and Freedom... it was a bit of a wake-up call to watch her own teacher kill a spider so blithely. In their text book, it had said that torture spells, such as the cruciatus, required the desire to cause pain. While the selections up to then for Defense professors had been questionable, she had never thought that such a sadist would ever be picked, friend of Dumbledore's or not.

But to go against her second stricture as well, to have Divination be interesting, was unheard of. Instead of the usual predictions of death for Charlotte (perhaps these things only persisted through the third year?) there had been some genuine learning going on. Even Parvati Patil, who normally clung to Trelawney's every word as if it was the word of the Fates speaking to her, had been more attentive than usual, and that was saying something. It was perhaps the only time that Charlotte wasn't wishing she had switched out to more practical classes like Arithmancy or Ancient Runes. Truthfully, she hadn't had high hopes after the double Divinations on Monday, but the third class period of the week gave her hope.

Before the ferret episode, Trelawney had been predicting things in her regular way. Incorrectly, that is. The mad woman had started off with star charts and their influence on human life and fate, not actually teaching anything but decreeing that Charlotte was small, sickly, and likely to die young because she was born in December and had unfortunate influence from Saturn or something like that. Naturally, She-Who-Survived pointed out that she had, in fact, been born at the end of July; the old beaded bat hadn't been terribly happy. Friday morning seemed to bring new life to the incompetent fortune teller.

She actually taught them for once. The importance of each planet was explained in detail beyond that which the book had outlined, how to actually tell what planet was in what house, and how this correlated with fate beyond that silly astrology stuff muggles put far too much faith in. It was an hour well spent (for once) and, for the first time in her career as a student of the Divining Arts, she didn't have to fake her homework that would be due at the end of the weekend.

The horror of her Defense lessons combined with the sudden upswing of the Divination curriculum had, officially, turned the world upside-down for Charlotte. True, Evan was still showing obvious dislike for Malfoy (and calling him ferret-face), Rhianna was tentatively friendly toward her near-Slytherin best friend, and Dumbledore was a sugar-high old man with a hidden agenda, but it was still weird. Snape hadn't even had anything bad to say about the potion that she made in his first lesson!

Whatever it was that Evan had done to get in Dumbledore's good graces had worked, because it was Friday night, and Charlotte was relaying all of her past week via floo to her godfather. It was odd to say the name of a place without any sound actually coming out. Still, it was even more odd to have someone back home that not only did she want to talk to, but would willingly speak with her. The fact that it was her godfather, a man who really cared for her, made it all the better in her mind. Remus was with him of course, but the werewolf had dozed off at some point.

"So he likes poking fun at the son of a Death Eater?" Sirius asked. Charlotte had finished off the summary of her week with the Transfiguration of Draco Malfoy, so they were talking bout that incident, naturally. "Evan has to be the most confounding person I've ever met. I've known he would be in Slytherin since we met him – the way he always talked with you about using your cunning and whatnot was a dead giveaway – but going so obviously against his own housemates? Either he's angling to be King Snake this year or he's gone batty."

"Provided he wasn't already," Charlotte amended for the animagus before her. "And if he's angling for this year, wouldn't he be going for at least the year after too? I mean, he'll still be at Hogwarts, and he did mention he wanted to apprentice in defense the year after that too. Oh! And get this; after my Defense class with Moody yesterday, he said not to trust him. I mean, Evan gave the guy our address as one of the Ministry connections, and I'm not supposed to trust the guy? You'd think that he would pick trustworthy people, right?" It was so confusing. Evan seemed to get on alright with the mad ex-Auror (she still wasn't sure why he qualified as an Auror contact) and claimed the man believed in Sirius' innocence, but now she wasn't to trust him? Her cousin was maddening and easily as secretive as Dumbledore.

"Merlin, if I could get in that kid's head for five minutes!" Groaned Sirius. He flopped back on the couch in the parlor, jostling Remus' head on his shoulder for the lethargic lycanthrope to awake. "If he weren't right about Dumbledore, I wouldn't believe a word he says, but as is... Charlotte, just be careful around him, okay? He seems an okay sort, but you never know."

"Sure thing Sirius," Agreed the ever-obedient goddaughter of the Most Famous Convict Ever (if only because he escaped from the Dementors). "So, how're things here? Buckbeak doing alright without me?" Really, she wanted to talk about the horses. Neither of the old Marauders cared much for them, but Charlotte did, even getting Sirius to teach her to ride properly. Asking about Buckbeak was the only segue she could think of off of the top of her head.

Somehow, instead of leading to a question or two about horses, she received a very surprising bit of news regarding the resident hippogriff. "Well, he's been alright," Sirius replied simply, helping to prop up Remus on the couch. "Hagrid is going to start visiting on weekends starting tomorrow so he can be with 'his precious Beaky' as the letter said. I'm kind of surprised the guy trusted Evan so quickly and vice a versa, considering Hagrid's dislike for Slytherins and, ah, _loose tongue_ so to speak. So long as Evan doesn't tell Snivellus where we live, though, I don't much mind who he tells."

"I don't think there's any reason for Evan to tell Snape," Remus yawned. "Aside from student-teacher, there's no relation between the two. And besides, if Dumbledore trusts Snape so implicitly, why should we? He mentioned that Voldemort knows the first part of the prophecy; for all we know, Snape's the one who told him. I've not got much against the man besides his being a Death Eater and his irrational loathing for all things Potter-related, but... well, I wouldn't have put it past him to kill the Headmaster himself. And that's with him being really loyal to the man."

Both of the pair present aside from the still sleepy werewolf nodded. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it was completely possible. Suddenly, Charlotte could feel something tugging on her robes. Time was up. "I'll be sure to send Arcturus your way if I can pry him away from Hedwig. I think they're considering nesting or something," she rolled her eyes, not wanting to dwell on the particulars of owl mating and deciding to just think about the cute owlets that would come from such a pairing. "If you go out, don't forget the polyjuice, and see if you can't break into Evan's office by Halloween. I got special permission to come home on the first Hogsmeade Weekend in October, so we can explore then, if possible." With that final farewell, Charlotte pulled her head from the fire and righted herself dusting off the ashes from her blouse.

"I trust you had a most lucrative discussion with your godfather, Ms. Potter?" Dumbledore's eyes wee twinkling, per usual. Judging from his seemingly normal (for him) geniality, it was assumed that he didn't have a bug in the floo to spy on her conversation. That was good. "Well, you have about twenty minutes until curfew. Off you trot!"

It was perhaps the most annoying thing in existence (aside from Colin Creevey) to have people she saw on a daily basis treat her as a child. With Sirius and Remus, she knew it was general protectiveness, McGonagall couldn't treat anyone who hadn't graduated as an adult, and most teachers didn't do it on purpose, but they were equally as guilty. Evan seemed to waver between treating her as an adult who was capable of making her own decisions and a child who was so insanely naïve that grandmothers everywhere would just want to kidnap her for a cuddle. She didn't show any adverse reaction to the Headmaster's demeanor and simply obeyed.

As luck would have it, Charlotte knew the patrol patterns of several Hogwarts professors by now and just which ones were so stringent about curfew that they would toss someone in detention even twenty minutes beforehand. Snape was one of those Professors, and his patrol area just so happened to stretch into Gryffindor territory. With a sigh, She-Who-Survived pulled the Marauders' Map from her robe pocket and tapped it with a quick mutter of "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The effect was instantaneous as ink crawled along the old parchment. Finally, the ink curved at the top of the main frame of the page to read the ultimate message to pranksters (or simply students who didn't want Snape to swoop down on them) from the Marauders themselves. The fact that she had just been having a nice conversation with half that group and her being the daughter of the only female Marauder didn't really have to be mentioned.

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, and Padfoot and the very refined Lady Bluecollar  
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers  
are proud to present  
THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

Charlotte had only owned the map for less than a full year, but it had been put to good use. She could navigate the school just as well as the Prewett Twins even with the Map tucked safely in her trunk, a feat yet to be matched. This map was one of two things passed down to her from her mother that she could access before she become of age. Alongside the cloak, there was little doubt that she would have the easiest time causing chaos in the school... if she wanted to that is. This, however was not her objective, and instead she scanned the map as she wandered the halls, keeping an eyes out for professors. Oddly, as she came up to the Fat Lady, she saw a name that really didn't make any sense to be at Hogwarts.

Bartemius Crouch. Weirder still was that he was approaching the Gryffindor common room. What business did the Ministry have with Gryffindor? He was Percy's boss at the Ministry, she recalled from the brief meeting at the Quidditch Cup; perhaps something had happened that required his direct attention to the family? But even that made no sense. There was no reason for him to be at Hogwarts at all!

With the Head of the Department of International Cooperation on her tail, Charlotte managed to blank out the Map and stuff it in her pocket just as the footsteps – very uneven footsteps for Crouch – to become audible. He turned the corner ahead of her, but Charlotte certainly didn't expect what she saw.

Professor Moody was walking in his uneven gate toward her, wooden leg smacking the floor quite audibly. There was no second set of footsteps, no other person with the insane ex-auror that even vaguely resembled Mr. Crouch. But Charlotte knew better than to comment. Perhaps this was what was wrong with Moody – Bartemius Crouch was impersonating him. It explained a lot, really, if it was true. He would be very much keen on getting revenge on the son of a Death Eater who escaped the supposedly-long-but-not arm of the law and rewarding the supposed unmitigated goodness of Gryffindor even at the expense of Mad-Eye's reputation. Not only that, but now she could understand why Evan told her not to trust him, to an extent.

That did not explain how Crouch went to work everyday though. Even with a time-turner, he could recover maybe seven hours tops (or so the experiments with Hayden's time-turner the year before had said) which was a lot less than the amount of time he spent daily at Hogwarts or the Ministry. It was a mystery for another day, but Charlotte made a mental note to ask Evan about it over the weekend, provided she saw him. While his Seer gift was kind of creepy, it did have the advantage of her being able to ask him questions about things and getting a good estimate of whether or not it was likely to happen.

There was no interaction between Mad-Eye Crouch and the Potter heiress beyond a nod as they passed each other. This did indeed bear looking into.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

The morning of Wednesday the fourth dawned bright and early, something that Evan was very much awake to see. For some reason, after his near-narcolepsy of the end of August and start of September, he was an insomniac. He hadn't slept in a few days, not that he particularly minded, and so he'd had a lot of time to sneak out of the Slytherin dorms and check out the Ravenclaw Diadem in the Room of Requirements. Having immediately removed it to a different area of the Storage Room, Evan set about studying it... but he couldn't exactly figure out much in his night sessions beyond that he _really_ didn't want to touch it. The Come-and-Go Room wasn't being at all helpful with that either.

His first lesson that day was guaranteed to be interesting. Mad-Eye Moody was going to be teaching the seventh year NEWT Defense course that morning... or so everyone thought. On the other hand, Evan already knew that it wasn't the real Moody and was, in fact, Barty Crouch, Jr. He had told Charlotte not to trust the imposter, but not the why as of yet. Judging by her sudden philanthropy towards Malfoy, he was almost certain she would want him to turn in Crouch immediately, which he could not do. What he _did_ want was to somehow get the real Moody out of the trunk in his office and to the Sanctuary. He was already planning on smuggling in Crouch, Sr. if he could manage to overcome Wormtail's Imperius curse. The chance of Crouch, Sr. being able to overcome the Imperius was several times higher than getting the real Moody from Crouch, Jr.'s clutches anyway.

Breakfast was normal, in that Evan was not at all hungry and only ate a few bites of toast to appease any who bothered to look. With the four other Slytherins who were in the NEWT Defense course, he was "led" to the room where it would all take place. Evan was very curious as to what it would be that Moody would do for his class. Technically, seventh years were to start by learning about either the Unforgivables (which Moody was jumping the shark on and teaching younger students as well) or else dementors. Due to the lesson that the fourth year Gryffindors would be getting the next day, he assumed that it was the former.

Moody stormed into the room from his room, dark hair looking a bit paler than normal. He took a drink from his flask and it seemed only a trick of the light. What other proof did Evan need that he was not really Moody? None at all, naturally. So as Moody-Crouch stood in front of his desk, everyone was all ears, but Evan knew what they didn't. He idly wondered what Moody would have taught if he weren't in a trunk, but Evan didn't have the time nor the attention span to dwell on it overmuch. Moody-Crouch was speaking.

"Put those books away," Moody-Crouch growled in his usual low tone. Barty, Jr. had obviously been studying for the role. "You won't need them for what I'm teaching you today." The sound of shuffling bags and sliding books covered most of the room, but Evan didn't move. His book had never left his bag in the first place. "According to the Ministry, the first lesson you learn in this NEWT class is on the Unforgivable curses. Who knows the name and effect of all three curses?" Everyone raised their hand. "Who knows what these curses look like?" Only one hand remained up. "Pronghorn, tell the class what an Unforgivable looks like, and the incantations if you know them."

Evan was surprised, but he spoke up regardless. "The Imperius Curse has the incantation of Imperio. It causes a small jet of pale blue light to shoot at a target and take over their free will. The easiest way to tell if someone is under the Imperius is if their eyes are glassy when they aren't just staring into space or if they look vacant." Moody-Crouch nodded, so he continued. "The Cruciatus Curse causes no light to emit, so the angling of the wand is the only indicator of who or what the spell is aimed at prior to casting. The incantation is Crucio, and the symptoms are indescribable pain, screaming, clawing at one's own skin, and after effects include shaking, ragged breath, insanity, loss of nervous system functions, and a strained voice. The final curse is the Killing Curse, Avada Kadavera. The beam of the spell is a wide-spread and vibrant green, and the only symptom is death. Only one person has ever survived it, and she is currently sitting Transfiguration." He'd made it as clinical as possible, but it didn't help that he had cast two of the three spells personally and survived the second twice. Evan needed a calming draught, but with Moody-Crouch's eye on him... it wasn't happening.

Although he was proud of himself that he didn't break down then and there, or even stammer in his explanation, Evan felt like Moody-Crouch could see into his mind. Considering the fact that the teen had become accustomed to practicing occlumancy at all times, he knew that the disguised Death Eater wasn't. But it was like when a person (especially Ron) sees a spider; they become paranoid, and then there's feel this crawling sensation on their skin that screams "SPIDER" at them even though there's nothing there. Evan would wait until he was out of class to take his potion... he could do that, couldn't he?

"Good explanation, Mr. Pronghorn," Moody nodded. "I have received permission from the Headmaster to do an in depth study of the supposed 'least serious' of the Unforgivable Curses, including having all students of age 14 and up feel what it is like to be under the curse itself. If anyone does not want to participate in this particular lesson, leave." He paused for a moment, electric blue eye surveying the class. He seemed a lot more matter-of-fact in this lesson, but Evan reasoned that it made sense. Moody-Crouch wasn't trying to impress Harry Potter in this lesson, and never would be. However, the next day he would be trying to impress Charlotte. With the warning against him, hopefully she wouldn't be. "Very well. The aforementioned exercise is the first lesson. We will go over the particulars of the Curse for the next two lessons and then move onto the cruciatus. In October we will move on to Dementors, Lethifolds, and the Nundu."

He called for the first student in alphabetical order, a Gryffindor by the name of Abercrombie (the name sounded familiar, but Evan couldn't think of why). She approached the front of the room and fussed with her skirt edge before steeling herself. Being on the wrong end of Mad-Eye's wand would never be a pleasant experience. The fact that it wasn't Moody's wand went unnoticed by everyone else in the room, because even if they did know to notice, the real Moody's wand had been broken during the Exploding Rubbish Bin Debacle... supposedly.

"Imperio," the curse was quiet, unlike how Evan remembered it. Most likely because he didn't have to shout at seventh years, unlike the middle students. They had taken the course long enough to take it seriously and everyone in that room knew the precise repercussions that came with this spell. So he watched as more and more students fell under the spell. Abercrombie was forced to do the hokey pokey (how did Crouch even know that one?) and other students fell to similar fates. The first student to show any signs of resistance was Cedric Diggory.

It was odd that Evan hadn't even noticed him, but there he was. He stood proudly before Moody-Crouch, jaw set, and wavy blond hair immaculate (and yet still messy) as always. Evan had never really seen him do anything four years ago, but even as he stood before the glowing wand of Mad-Eye (or so he thought), he could tell just why the Goblet had picked Cedric the first time. Cedric really was everything a hero ought to be. He was brave, smart, and had the drive to improve himself. In all honesty, Evan kind of envied him on that one; he really could be a hero, the older of the two had just been thrust into the part without any how-do-you-dos whatsoever. While he couldn't have just dumped his fate on anyone else's shoulders, he had always wished that he could bear his burden (his murder) on anyone else, anyone who could think clearly. But the joke was on fate, because now Evan could think... well, not at just that moment, because he was seeing a dead man stand at the end of the man who would lead to his death... Just as Crouch's whole focus went into the illegal curse, Evan managed to discretely down a calming draught. There. He could think again.

But Cedric resisted. He fidgeted for almost ten seconds before he started dancing the can-can with fervor. After a round of congratulations, Moody-Crouch continued. Aside from Charms, the NEWT Defense class was always the largest class, so there was some time before Evan was finally called. While all but one of his classmates crumpled immediately, he knew that he would be standing stalk still and defying the ruddy Death Eater when he made his move.

With the wand pointed slightly upward at his face from Moody's chest level (he noticed that Crouch's wand was cherry, and could almost smell the unicorn hair... how, he don't know, but the fact that slime like him could have a wand created from materials renowned for their purity was annoying), Evan was immensely glad to have fresh potion running through his system. He stared down that single stick, one that, to muggles, would seem like something to throw for the family dog, but to knowledgeable signified the tortures of Neville Longbottom's parents. Stupid, bumbling Neville who summoned Gryffindor's sword from the goblins' clutches to do one favor to a boy he owed nothing to... the fact that in mere weeks he would be under this same wand, watching this same beam of pale blue light streak straight at him... it made Evan's blood boil.

So the blue beam hit him. It was so pale that a person could only see it if they saw it at just the right angle, which he could. It hit between Evan's eyes, an inch shy of his artfully hidden scar (meaning he covered it with a "second skin" paste he bought in an apothecary) and everything in the world became soft. Softer than it had since he started taking calming draughts. All the hard edges left his consciousness, and Evan just relaxed into the cool sensation of floating.

_Sing the National Anthem_. It was a simple request. A reasonable request even. Every good Brit ought to sing their praises to Britannia every so often, shouldn't they? But something rocked within him; he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he? The only song they were _ever_ asked to sing at the castle was the school's song every year. Why had it changed?

There was no voice that was suddenly saying this to him. He wished there was, but that wasn't the case at all. His eternal defense against this particular spell seemed to have vanished from under him. No reasonable voice asking why, going against his own acquiescence towards the slightly silly demands that were being made... just Evan. Part of his resistance was probably because he couldn't actually remember the start of the Anthem... but he'd not admit that one.

_Sing the National Anthem_. The odd thing, Evan realized, was that the voice whispering in his metaphysical ear was not Mad-Eye Moody's. Anyone who came into contact with his Imperius ought to be able to tell the difference between his grizzly voice and this smooth tone of youth, but it seemed Evan was the only one. Even as his mouth opened, he wondered where that second voice had gone off to. Surely, it was simply his voice of reason. Surely it would speak up against this mad man any second now? _Sing the National Anthem_.

"Stop that," he snapped suddenly. A blink, long and slow, then another. Everything was not puppies and silk sheets suddenly. Evan could see the world around him instead of just his fuzzy dream world where Moody's whizzing eye was an entrancing blue _thing_ that made the hypnotism all the more enticing, but simply an enchanted false eye.

And while that mobile eye removed itself to look out the back of his skull, the smaller, darker eyes widened until it was on par with the blue. "Well done, Pronghorn!" Moody-Crouch murmured, releasing a low whistle. Another thing that was not the real Mad-Eye – he never whistled because it was so easy to follow. "Did you all see that? Mr. Pronghorn here resisted the spell completely! And on his first try as well. Were any of you looking at his eyes? How they darted around? That's how you know they're resisting..."

But how had he even done it? That was what he wanted to know more than anything else. After all, there had been no voice in the back of his head telling him not to obey, that he didn't _want_ to obey. Maybe... maybe it was because Evan wasn't a horcrux anymore. Perhaps it had been that fragment of twisted, evil soul that had pushed away the foreign, controlling presence? But it wouldn't have resisted its original, Voldemort, would it? A piece of Voldemort would be eager to make itself known to the genuine article, wouldn't it? But even through his Hogwarts years, Tom Riddle had made it obvious that he did not enjoy being controlled. Evan didn't either for that matter; otherwise he wouldn't have this... _vendetta_ against Dumbledore.

Luckily for him, Moody-Crouch didn't insist that he go through with it again. Evan didn't know if he could; he didn't know how he _had_. After everyone had gone (with such embarrassing results as pretending to be a chicken, one Ravenclaw boy rattling on about how he was Snow White, and a Slytherin girl Evan vaguely recognized from his Transfiguration class singing opera... badly) Moody-Crouch just stood in front of us, mad-eye roving.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" For most it would have been unexpected at best, resulting in a few dropped wands. Somewhere behind the time traveler (for his seat was innocuously in the middle) a desk was knocked over and Moody-Crouch chuckled. Again, obvious differences. Moody didn't chuckle when people jumped like that, he glared at them for not being as prepared as he felt they ought to be. It was very important to him. "Constant vigilance. Never ceasing, eternal, _constant vigilance_. That is what I am here to teach you. If a Dark wizard comes behind you in an alley somewhere, you will know it. If you are in a duel, you are aware of your surroundings. These are my lessons, things that you would learn in the Auror Academy if you enrolled, but that isn't enough. More than just aurors should be able to defend themselves from what is out there, and more than just aurors could be able to set the world to rights. That is what I will be teaching you."

Perhaps if Mad-Eye had been the one to make the speech rather than a Death Eater, I wouldn't mind so much. It was a good lesson. Why should only a Ministry controlled force be able to fight? It was something that the Order had been, would be, based upon; the people fighting for the people. Unfortunately, it was also a thought that sprung into the minds of many Death Eaters. Why shouldn't they be able to fight and change their world? Evan remembered Hermione referring to King Arthur about this once, something about a musical that she had seen before starting Hogwarts. She said that Voldemort operated under "Might is Right" while the Order, the small vigilante group, had been "Might for Right." Mind, he had no clue what the heck she was on about, but it kind of made sense. In a skewed "Hermione said something brilliant so we should probably pay attention" sort of way.

Parchment was pulled out for notes (how Evan missed using muggle notebooks, they were so much more organized!) and everyone was assigned to describe exactly how the spell felt, and Cedric and Evan were told to add on what it felt like to be resisting. True, Diggory hadn't broken it, but neither had the spell broken him, and that was something. But how could Evan describe it? He was floating, but he wondered why he was being told to do something outside the normal and he told him to stop! All he wanted to do was think and there was that voice, nudging him to do its will. It had been annoying.

Having taken up all but the last hour before lunch, many students went to the library or their common rooms. Evan did the former, deciding he wanted to look up some better calming draughts to start taking as his addiction progressed. Having had to down two phials that morning before class and one in, he was on the verge of needing something stronger to keep him from breaking down. Add to that the fact that he knew he would probably be barred from taking any for the tasks if he was chosen as the Hogwarts Champion. Unfortunately, he didn't find anything that was really new, just the usual potions that he already knew about. There didn't seem to be anything in between the basic calming draughts and the Draught of Peace, but there had to be. Calming draughts were the gateway potion, and the Draught of Peace was insanely strong. No way was there not something of median strength.

With a sigh, Evan stood from his table, tucked the potions volumes back in their shelves, and left the Library. It was lunch, and he was feeling oddly hungry... well, perhaps it wouldn't be so odd if he ate more often. Even through August, when he had made veritable feasts for his family (though to them they might have thought he felt them only house guests) he had eaten very little. He don't know _why_, but ever since the... _Event_ in June, he had eaten less even than usual. Maybe it was depression... but considering his propensity to take calming draughts, that didn't really make any sense. Without overwhelming emotion, there was no physical decline, right? So he shouldn't have a decreased appetite... or wavering sleep schedule... or any of the things that were going wonky with him lately. They were just as likely side effects of the calming drafts though, so he tried not to think about it. Instead, he entered the Great Hall, and had a couple of sandwiches.

So lunch passed quickly. He stuffed himself with turkey and ham sandwiches with all the decorum befitting a Slytherin, since he had decided that encouraging them to steal his wand wasn't a good idea. Losing his title, Master of Death, was not a good idea at the time. While he had been unwilling to take the mantle at first, finding the Resurrection Stone and Elder Wand in his trunk after he had tried to relinquish them had made it clear that the Hallows wanted to be owned. So, in the month between the Final Battle and the _Event_, he had gone out into the world, gotten his ear pierced to bear the Hallows Sigil, and convinced his friends that he had left the two items that weren't his by birth right in hidden enclaves across the world. They never noticed that his wand had gone from Holly to Ebony or that he bore a broken ring on his right hand. Probably because Evan didn't want them to.

The walk from the Great Hall to the North Tower for Divination was long and lonesome. He had found out from Snape when he passed out schedules that Evan was the only Seventh year in NEWT Divinations, so he was with the three students in the Sixth year NEWT class instead of his own peers. He hadn't really noticed... but he supposed even sycophants such as Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown (he recalled she was now a _he_ by the name of Indigo) had to get tired of Snape's spacey, rainbow, and beaded counterpart. The fact that Evan had already doomed himself to at least two more years of her company didn't seem too bad as he climbed. At least he would be getting exercise.

A silver ladder had fallen just as he reached the platform on the tower, just as he recalled. A trapdoor lay open above, and Evan wasted no time in climbing up these braided steps to the land of incense and summer heat. It was far too much, far too warm. He gagged slightly on the noxious fumes on the nearest cluster of candles (Sweet Merlin! It smelled like someone had set a fruit smoothie on fire inside of a bee's nest with sandalwood for tinder and some badly brewed Amortentia instead of oil) and cast a cooling charm on his person. Just because he was going to be in the sweltering room, it didn't mean he was going to sweat like a pig! He had to keep up his Slytherin decorum at all times. Being antagonized by one's housemates was never fun, would never be fun. So he sat calmly in a pouf in the middle of the room and waited.

It did not take long for the sixth years to climb into the room, all immediately starting to fan themselves. It was a group of two Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff. Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and a Hufflepuff Beater (a boy by the name of Eric McNamee, if I recalled) seemed to decide, almost on a whim, to sit with Evan, and as their collective buttocks touched chair, Trelawney swooped in like the Technicolor bastard child of a dragonfly, butterfly, and bat that she was. Yes, Evan could definitely understand why he was the only seventh year who was masochistic enough to continue with this class... though it was mostly just a sense of duty. If he was to masquerade as a Seer, why wouldn't he take this class?

"Welcome back, welcome back," Trelawney's voice was airy, per usual, and made Evan want to smack his head against a wall. Unfortunately, due to the fact that, not only was he among other people, but he was about ten feet from the nearest wall, this was not feasible. "As you can see, my NEWT courses have been put together to increase the Divine Vibrations in the room. Now, according to the Headmaster, we have a bit of a treat in the form of our seventh year delegate, however, as I have yet to test him on my own..." she trailed off, her magnified eyes scanning the only seventh year in the room without shame. She didn't like the idea of having someone steal her spotlight, no doubt, but she would also be intrigued by the idea of having a real Seer rather than a simple Prophet in the room with her. Due to her natural insight on human behavior, however, Evan would have to be careful. He could have her noticing that he wasn't actually a Seer, now could he? "Mr. Pronghorn?"

He flicked his gaze to meet hers, pretending to act as though he didn't particularly care... not much of an act, considering that he was both doped up on calming draughts, but was also rather disinterested in the subject to begin with. "Yes, Professor Trelawney? Was there something you wanted?" The minor allowance of a small smirk that _screamed_ "I know something you don't know" was hard to keep off of his face, so he let it stay. After all, if she believed he knew what was happening, wouldn't she be more likely to believe? Alright, so Evan didn't know that, nor did he have any clue what was to be asked anyway, but it could prove interesting.

"Tell me... what do you foresee for the month of November?" That was it? That was his test? Evan grinned wider. This was a bit _too_ easy, even for him, so he decided to be very, _very_ vague. It wouldn't do to let anyone who wasn't already in the know to find out, even before the Tournament officially began, what would be happening in any of the Tasks.

"It will be unusually hot for November, some unexpected fires around the school," It was an unclear message that would sound like a lack of rain and some forest fires or something, but not really. "A good month for a nice flight, of course, and eggs will be particularly good on the day of the twenty-fourth, almost golden." With his year-younger peers staring at him as if he had grown a second head (or he was channeling Trelawney's insanity), Evan merely smirked at Trelawney. As the other three slowly brought their gaze to the woman, their eyes bugged out a bit. It was the look of shock on Trelawney's face, perhaps, or that she was suddenly a blubbering mess. The cryptic message had put the woman into a sort of euphoric shock at having someone like Evan ready to be taken under her wing, and that was what would really cement him in her good graces. Every professor knew of the challenges (even if they had made oaths not to speak of them), but he was a student who was not well known. How could he know if he wasn't a Seer?

It took nearly a minute for the woman to get out of her daze before she, too smiled. It wasn't the usual "I'm going to predict the death of someone in this room" smile, but a real smile. And she taught them. There is a difference between what she had always done when Evan had originally been her student and what she was doing then; back then she would tell them to do something and look in their books. Now, however, she went through everything, explaining the history of the ritual she was introducing them to (throwing bones in a fire), how to tell through the cracks in the bones and the shapes in the flame what was being foretold... Aside from the lessons from Firenze in his fifth year, Evan didn't think he had ever had a better Divination class. One where he learned something beyond that he was doomed to die a gruesome death he meant.

He fingered the white bone that was in his hand, eyeing it closely. He hadn't gone too in depth with this one when reading his books on the subject of Divination, but he knew that it was an ancient Chinese method and extremely reliable, even for muggles. With a sigh, Evan dropped the small finger-length piece of ivory into the snapping flames on his desk. It did nothing for a few moments before it cracked, exposing the dense marrow to the flames as if to say "come get me." The crack ran length-wise... he glanced at the open text book. Darkness to come. A snort escaped him. _No shit, Sherlock_.

As the flames continued to dance and crackle, the bone continued to gain lines until one flame managed to lick inside one of those cracks. A burst of fire rose, forming a set of curly-cues and releasing quite a few sparks that singed Evan's book, which was not a good thing, but at least it didn't catch fire. He waved at the smoke lifting from the new burn marks, eyes darting over the page before he returned to stare at the flames. They were so red...

A figure swayed before his eyes, almost dancing. Without really thinking, Evan leaned in, his face mere inches from the dancing fire and cracking bone. Everything seemed to be darker as he got closer to this source of light, so cold and warm all at once that he could hardly even think to breathe. In, and in. Out was too disruptive, it moved the flames, made them illegible. So Evan just watched, feeding oxygen to his brain, but not releasing. Soon his lung capacity was expended, and all he could see was that there were tongues of brilliant red dancing and making... making something. What had once been a figure seemed to grow wings, great black wings that were enough to overshadow him horribly. Surely... surely there was something there? Yes, the wings rose to show a dragon, he was sure, and as it unwound, Evan could almost tell it was approaching... but it was just fire, wasn't it?

Thing is, it's never just fire. He hadn't paid attention, and in his single-mindedness he had leaned forward. A small tongue of flame lapped at his nose and he jumped back, rubbing the pain away with a cooling charm on his hand. It hurt! Luckily, it was a very minor, barely even pink, burn. Evan shook his head, thinking about the odd things his mind had conjured up, finally laughing at the idea. He knew there was a dragon in his future. It was only natural that, as his mind wandered, he should see one and, in his own stupidity, he would let that apparition scald him. This wasn't exactly the smartest moment of his life, after all.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

The weekend, Merlin's gift to teenagers, had finally come. Not that Evan cared much about it beyond that it meant that he finally had time to work on his Potions Essay and finish the Defense paper that had been assigned. Oh, he wanted very much to tell the Death Eater masquerading as Moody to screw off and curse Snape rather harshly, but he didn't particularly mind. He had received worse assignments before, and with Hermione breathing down his neck to actually do them at that. No, he was content to leave the sunny grounds to the other students and simply write his essays. After all, no one really noticed that Evan just so happened to be searching through Potions books for further variants of the calming draught while he was working, or that he was downing a phial of blue potion every couple of hours.

Evan was just rolling up his Defense essay, finishing off his description of what it felt like to resist the Imperius Curse, when he got a visitor who he had halfway been expecting and halfway surprised had come. Charlotte was different from him, certainly, but when _Harry_ was her age he only entered the library if he had to (and been coerced by Hermione). But maybe books were a girl thing; Evan wouldn't know. With dark locks tied in a simple ponytail and wearing muggle clothes (he could not wear such things, sadly, because he would get beat up by Slytherins, which he did not want), she sat next to him, obviously without the intent to study. The fact that she came without any of her supplies beyond the wand sticking out of her back pocket was proof enough.

"You shouldn't keep your wand there," he murmured after he had noticed it, thinking of the real Moody's warning. "You could blow off a cheek, I've heard." It was a monotone response on par with Professor Binns. He would have to work on that.

"Er, thanks for that Evan," Charlotte crinkled her nose as the image doubtless entered her mind. That thin shaft of holly was removed and placed in her jacket pocket instead, a much safer place. The fact that it wasn't going to get snapped when she sat that way was just a plus, Evan thought. "I came to ask you something rather important, and you make fun at where I put my wand. By the way, I need more of that nutrient potion. You only gave me a week's supply..." She paused, seeming to try to organize her thoughts back to where they were before the wand comment. "What I want to know is what you know about Alastor Moody and Barty Crouch."

The older teenager stopped moving altogether, shocked. What sort of question was that? "Depends on what you want to know," Evan stated finally. "I can tell you a lot of things. Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody is an old friend of Dumbledore's who retired from active duty as in auror two years after the First – I mean, after the war with Voldemort ended. Bartemius Crouch is the ex-Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and spearheaded the war until about a month after the end when his son was convicted of torturing a couple of aurors into insanity. Moody was the one to catch him."

Simplicity was key. Evan had to know what and why she wanted to know whatever it was. If all she needed was basic background available in any public access Ministry records, then he would tell her that. If she had somehow caught onto Moody's act (wouldn't that be amazing?), then he would bring her to the Room of Requirements to tell her. As it was, he had no clue exactly what it was that she wanted, but he was going to find out.

"Wait... he was the Head of the Auror Department? And his son became a Death Eater? How do you not notice that?" Charlotte shook her head. "Though... if he was maybe mad at Moody... that would explain..." A pause. "Evan, I... er... have this thing that tells me where people are..."

"The Marauders' Map," he nodded, urging her on. So that was it! He hadn't really used his at all until later in the year... but how did she figure it out so quickly? It wasn't exactly an easy thing.

"How... never mind. So, I was walking back to my dorm last night, after I had my talk with Remus and Snuffles, and I heard footsteps coming around the corner. I looked at the map and I was surprised to see it was Barty Crouch, but when he actually came around it was Professor Moody! It's just... I'm not sure what that really means. I'm guessing you do, but I figured I should ask. Will you tell me?" Charlotte had this sort of pouty look, as if she were feeling a bit put upon, and her eyes seemed to triple in size. It was something that had been used on him many times by Ginny, and he was horrified to be put under that spell again. The dreaded puppy-dog eyes.

In mere minutes Evan had led her to the Room of Requirements, and he told her the tale of Barty Crouch, Jr., the Lestranges, and the Imperius that seemed to never end. Her eyes were wider than for the pout with surprise. How could she not be surprised? _Harry_ had been stammering, gaping like a fish when the truth had been laid out in front of him, and she had that same right.

"And you'll just let him sit there? Let a convicted criminal take Moody's place?" She was horrified, and rightfully so.

"I'm trying not to," he sighed, leaning back in the dark green chair that sat across from her blood red. "I don't know how, but I'm working on getting him out... but Crouch has to stay. There's no... he has to. If he doesn't, something really bad will happen, worse than what will." Somehow, Evan knew this, and he didn't combat the feeling. He didn't need to be a Seer (or just plain know a potential future as he did) to know that Voldemort had picked the simplest and least risky ritual to bring him back. Who knew what would happen if he couldn't steal Charlotte's blood? Evan didn't, and really hoped he never would.

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**A/n: I'm going to start with a plug for some one-shots I wrote a couple months ago – Dark Lord Names. I dunno if it's really any good, but it's just making fun of all those things where characters (particularly Harry or Voldemort) are making their "Dark Lord Name" using anagrams. Kinda realized I never plugged it before, so... yeah. Another one-shot I wrote is titled "King to DE" (and yeah, I realize that DE is not an actual square in chess) which is Harry sort of realizing that just because Voldemort is dead, it doesn't mean the war is over. That one was just an idea I liked, mostly because of the chess references even if I _do_** **suck at chess.**

**Right! Onto business! I am not revealing what Josey Potter's animagus form was, but you'll laugh when you find out, I'm sure. Charlotte still trusts Evan to an extent, and he is still really weird. He cannot deflect the Imperius like he used to because, as is suggested in the text, the second voice was really the horcrux, but Evan dislikes being controlled. Yes, the Marauders are trying to break into his office.**

**Anything else I can think of... I would have posted this over a week ago, but my supposed new beta never got back to me. I sent it along to my friend Purple Fuzzi Wumps instead. Seriously... no contact in a month now, and I had this chapter done on April 28th! Also, working on the second part of my story that will premiere on Friday the 13th of June. The idea is very different, I think, and will hopefully be well received.**

**Edit: switching the story to full third person. See author's note 7 for full details.**


	7. In Between Days

Nunquam Somnus: Never Sleep

**Words: 9,359**

**Disclaimer: Own not, profit not. If you recognize it, darn good chance it isn't mine. Not for the closed minded. And it's only as canon as I want it to be. So nyah. Spoilers from all seven books, plus made up stuff where I don't like what they have. A bit of a "Super Harry" fic, in that he is competent. And yes, I am very much female. Chapter title credited to The Cure.**

**Warnings: Spoilers from all books. DH and HBP ignored sometimes (such as in the cases of the Happily Ever After, Harry not taking the Elder Wand, he actually learned how to do wards and stuff from Hermione (as in not dumb enough to think that there was no chance she could die/get hurt while he was still alive, so if he was to go on he better know this stuff), he's competent, etc). Dumbledore and Prewett/Weasley bashing. Mixed up genders. Mentions of child abuse and sexual abuse. Extra characters, mainly minor. Some characters have different names. May be more warnings in later chapters. Impolite language. Same sex pairings. Sort-of drug abuse.**

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_Chapter 7: In Between Days_

"_Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary." Steve Jobs_

Somehow, Charlotte had missed seeing what her cousin was really like. Maybe it was because he had changed his dosage of calming draught upon reaching Hogwarts (likely), or maybe he had placed compulsion charms of some sort on her (questionable); perhaps he had even just been acting (though it seemed that he was mostly a bad actor except for hiding emotion, and he had made his accent nearly spot on to her own, so that was not very likely either). Without the jocular nature of her godfather and the calming influence of said godfather's mate, Charlotte was suddenly liking her cousin considerably less.

It was not, as one might believe, solely because of how he seemed to think of Malfoy, as many people (including Rhianna, who had invited herself back into Charlotte's fold after "getting over" her liking and almost being a "slimy Slytherin") held that same feeling. The ferret incident would, in all likelihood, never be lived down by the young aristocrat.

It was, in part, that she found Evan to be false; he was not genuine in emotion, and while he seemed to tell the truth – especially when that truth involved Albus Dumbledore's discrepancies – he was a liar. Every time she looked in his face, she could not see his true emotions because of those damned calming draughts and his occlumancy. Every time they spoke, he told a lie, usually of omission if not outright. No, Evan told the truth, but that didn't mean he would tell all of it. He was starting to remind her of Dumbledore, except he wasn't giving the reason of "for the greater good," but instead that he simply did not want her to know whatever it was that he was hiding in the first place. While the reasoning was more truthful, it still wasn't the truth. And that was what had Charlotte in a tiff all of September.

Well, that and Barty Crouch/Mad-eye Moody's "teaching," which was more screaming "constant vigilance" every five seconds, spouting about the Unforgivable Curses (which was seventh year material), and, finally, performing them on not-so-willing test subjects. Meaning his students.

Two weeks after the initial introduction to the Unforgivables, when they had been studying weaker variants of the two "lesser Unforgivables" (somehow, Charlotte found the one considered least Forgivable the most merciful as it ended things quickly even if it _was_ murder), Moody had claimed that it would be the last day of their study... which included each student being placed under the Imperius Curse. There had been no passing about consent forms, for parents or the students themselves, and the only opportunity to leave the room was in shame. It was not a "if you aren't sure, you can leave" but "if you're a pansy, then shove off and be ridiculed behind your back" sort of potential dismissal, which was the only reason why anyone stayed. No one wanted to lose their free will, they just didn't know anyone (everyone) felt the same.

Indeed, She-Who-Survived was, in this case, no different, as when she was called she strode forward nervously and took a very pale blue beam to the face. A Death Eater had her under his control... everything was fluffy, clean, and she couldn't be hurt, but this was different. She wasn't worrying about anything... but the thought "Death Eater" and then "murderer" floated across her mind before the supposed-dead man in question could even order her to do anything.

_Jump on the desk_.

No way in bloody hell was she going to do it. Charlotte stood her ground, not seeing through the haze, but fighting the curse regardless. There was something unsettling about this world of weightlessness and joy. Maybe it was because she could never remember anytime where she felt so protected, or because she had been trying to find a way to stop being treated like the child she had never been, but it irked her. Who was he to tell her what to do? Promises of an unknown reward for this one loss of inhibition, that she should give in to this feeling on down and silk... no. No, she didn't want to.

_I don't think I will, thanks._ Even as Charlotte was fighting to open her mouth to deny the command, she stopped. That was not her voice, not her thoughts, that had echoed in her mind. Who was there? She listened, but heard nothing but the repeated demands to jump on the desk. It was one particularly violent demand that she snapped, the voice echoing once more with, _I WON'T!!_

Everything came back into sharp focus, and she stood before her Professor, eyes wide as she thought over what it could mean. She was sure that "Moody" hadn't heard it, not a word, but she had. There had been a third voice. Not Moody's (though, she realized in hindsight, that it was not the voice of her supposed professor she heard, but a younger one), and not hers, but a voice that was high, sibilant, and malevolent. It was a voice laced with malice for the one who was trying to control her. Not for him as a person, as she held, but for the control he tried to steal. It was damned obvious to her how that voice felt, and even as she removed herself to her desk, refusing to allow the Death Eating son of a bitch try it again, she could have sworn that her scar was tingling.

She did not, however, do as her instincts told her and go tell Dumbledore, because after the revealing of the man's treachery, she had taken to ignoring any such things. Remus was still researching how to remove a compulsion without letting the caster know, and it was very difficult. According to the lycanthrope in their weekly floo correspondence, he had it mostly worked out but for one Arithmantic sequence, and it would be ready when she returned to the Stag's Sanctuary in a week's time for her quick visit with her family. Oh yes, Evan _had_ gotten himself, and thus the other three, very much on the Headmaster's good side. Perhaps he was merely wrangling for some foreshadowing, but whatever Evan had fed him worked, and Charlotte could not fault him on his Slytherin side.

Unless, of course, that Slytherin side was working against her. She knew he had left out something big when he revealed that Barty Crouch, Jr. had taken over the role of Mad-Eye Moody, it was obvious. He was a good liar, but Charlotte didn't trust him to not leave anything out. That was a bit too trusting in her opinion. No, Evan had detailed a lot of things that left her furious, but there had to be something else to it. The son of the Head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation (she would never understand why every department had to have 'magic' in the name – it was the _Ministry of Magic_ in the _Magical World_ for crying out loud! Everything was so redundant) just so happened to break a very difficult-to-break spell just in time to let off the Dark Mark at the Quidditch Cup, and he was suddenly at Hogwarts with not only Moody imperiused in his trunk, but somehow doing the same to his father at a distance? She was _not_ buying this one. There was something bigger going on here; something that no doubt had to do with her dream of Voldemort in August.

Professor Mad-Eye Crouch leered at her the rest of the period as he cycled through the entire class, making poor Neville Longbottom do some acrobatics that he would surely feel in the morning and even had Hayden do a small River Dance-style quick step. The big blue eye that had given the genuine article his name never left her. Even when Moody-Crouch was praising her for being able to resist (and attempting to insist that she be subjected to the curse until she could break it at a moment's notice, which she refused) and class was dismissed, the electric-blue eye didn't swivel away at all. It was disconcerting.

That was the first thing relayed when Charlotte tumbled out of the fireplace in the Sanctuary's parlor on October the eighth. She had long since told her godfathers about what Evan had told her about the Moody and Crouch situation, having done it as soon as she had another floo appointment with them, and so the revelations weren't too startling, but still creepy.

"We've got everything figured out," Sirius proclaimed when Charlotte was done. Her head jerked up, curious as to what he meant. "I figured out the password to the office this morning, so we can go in whenever, and Moony finished his what-cha-ma-whose-it on Wednesday. We're set. There are still a couple of locks that have to be picked the muggle way, but we can head in whenever you like. Do you want to snoop first or drop your compulsions?"

Having always wanted freedom, Charlotte chose the latter, standing proud before her "second godfather." A set of odd runes were painted on her arms in a potion (one which Evan already had in the house stocks, oddly) with one on her forehead. Remus said that it was the rune "poulirei" for "freedom." It was apparently something he'd had to visit Flourish and Blotts to find, because Evan didn't stock more than two books on Runes and Arithmancy, NEWT level, hexed against being touched by anyone they weren't keyed into. Oddly, they were a small set of Hogwarts school texts, the same ones assigned to sixth and seventh years for the past twenty years, and the initials on the covers were "HJG" rather than "ERGP" or something of the sort.

After a quick spell, Remus stood up from his stooped position before her, looking unhappy. "You've got thirteen compulsions on you, a dangerous number since, depending on what they are, they can completely override your personality. Three of them are keyed for trust, toward Rhianna Prewett, Albus Dumbledore, and Markus Prewett, of all people. There's also one that makes you distrust Snape – not that you need it – and a slow-acting form of love compulsion geared toward – get this – Alexander Markus Prewett. It seems the Headmaster really wants you in with the Prewetts..." he paused, seeming to look at a spot above her head for a moment, before resuming. "There are two that make you not care to try at anything mundane – one for schoolwork and one for healthy relationships. So you can't overtly seek out any friendships and it's difficult to make friends outside of those who are already wormed in.

"The six most recent are a bit more complex so far as I can find. One is really out there too; a ward that draws you toward dangerous company, particularly those who are dangerous to you personally, but it's next to one that repels them all the same... I think it's geared for Slytherins. So I suppose that makes you want to be around people who could kill you, but make you feel uncomfortable? I don't know, seems rather stupid. Third is to make you distrust and/or dislike authority figures, and fourth to make you driven to be accepted by them, including leeching onto anyone who knows even the least bit about your family, which tends to contradict the one inhibiting your social skills and educational ambitions. Fifth makes you want to divulge all secrets to Dumbledore and your friends, a complex trust-truth combination. And last up – this one's the killer – vengeance. It makes you want to take revenge for every perceived slight, playing on anger and righteous fury in particular. I have to admit, Dumbledore knew what he was doing."

It took an hour for all of them compulsions to be removed, the new runes being applied over Charlotte's arms with each one, though "poulirei" remained until they were all removed. As it ended, she remembered hearing the Martin Luther King Jr. speech in second grade (for Mrs. Galloway had been an American who was emphatic about making sure her charges knew about important American figures) where he'd apparently quoted an old spiritual. While she herself was not at all religious, she could at least appreciate those lines. Free at last.

"Marauding now? Please?" Sirius was suddenly in front of her, on his knees, and obviously channeling his animagus form. The puppy-dog eyes were overwhelming, and all she and Remus could do was nod in whole-hearted acquiescence. The prospect of lunch was not even broached. Rather, Sirius led them bouncing from the small nook they had been working in to the doors to Evan's office. He spoke with a solemn finality, looking deathly serious, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." A lock clicked.

"You're kidding, right?" Groaned Remus as he placed a hand to his forehead. He knows the bleeding password... what next? He can find his way about the school? He makes his _own_ Marauders' Map? I swear..." Another sigh. He resisted looking at Sirius' grin, and simply asked after what would be next.

"Just some pick-locking. ("Lock-picking," Charlotte corrected absently.) Whatever. Anyway, I'm going to pick the two locks and un-do the chain lock on the other side, and you two can listen for any voices. Every time I come here to work on it, I hear people in there, but all scans come up negative, so... yeah. So long as I'm done in ten minutes, the locks shouldn't reset until the door closes again," the dog animagus shrugged, pulling a genuine lock-pick from his pocket and twirling it around on a key-chain. "Let's get to it!"

While Sirius worked the lock, Charlotte pressed her ear to the door, trying to ignore the scratching and clunking of her godfather's work.

"Trying to... again," someone said in a low voice, the laughing man. "Heard... password right... once. Get... on... lot." It was sort of a harried statement at the end, almost as if they were trying to get someone to leave.

"But... to see! ... Boring!" this furious whisper seemed so familiar, but she just couldn't put her finger on it. Remus had stiffened, but kept his ear smashed against the door, listening with an intent expression on his face. Later, he would reveal the conversation as a whole, without the muffled bits that Charlotte had missed. The first lock clicked.

"Trying to get in here again," the man had said. "Heard Sirius get the password right, too, for once. Get it on with you lot." There was shuffling as the people in the room moved about.

"But I want to see! Besides, the library is so boring!" Remus claimed this voice was Sirius', but it was impossible, wasn't it?

"Shhh! You know well enough what Harry said, so get out! You three aren't to be seen. And take the traitor with you, while you're at it; I can't lift him and you two are leaving anyway," this was the voice of the woman, the only female person of the four voices heard behind the door at any given time. In fact, the voices never actually changed, always the same ones; young adults who couldn't be much older than Evan himself, if at all.

"We can at least turn him purple, can't we?" The Sirius-voice whined. There was rustling, as if on grass.

"Yes, just go! It'd be too much work to let them see you, so _go!_" The second lock clicked, the chain fell from its holder, and the door opened to Evan's office. There wasn't a soul in sight. Directly in the fore was a cushy chair facing a desk, though turned sideways rather than the usual desk-facing-the-entryway format, looking out a window instead. Charlotte was the first to step through.

What she saw when she turned from the window was quite the shock, really. A tall frame, reaching from floor to ceiling in fact, took up the entire South wall. The gilt frame was edged with silver and had rabies ensconced at the corners. Sculpted flowers intertwined, enough so that even the just the frame would interest a person for a long time. However, a frame is nothing without a portrait, and quite the landscape was painted across this one.

An apple tree, heavy with fruit, swayed in a nonexistent breeze of paint, its pale green leaves flicking about prettily. The boughs covered most of the top of the portrait, painted sunlight filtering through its boughs and the far sides of the frame. In the distance, a dark forest sat watching the field. Lilies, a small patch of them, rested in the very front of the portrait, flapping slightly as the grass in the portrait swayed, as if to some inaudible tune. Birds flew overhead, and a squirrel could be seen in one of the lower branches, munching on an apple. Charlotte wondered idly if squirrels even _ate_ apples in the natural world, but supposed the painted creature had to eat something... then she wondered if things painted actually had to eat. She had seen the Fat Lady get hammered enough, so she knew that painted foods at least had the regular effect on those imbibing them.

To the left of this mammoth portrait, on the Eastern wall, was a much smaller portrait, hovering just out of range from where it could be see from the doorway. It was filled with rows of books, a library that seemed to have no back wall, merely lines and lines of unending bookshelves. In the foreground was a desk with several books and scrolls out, but other than that it was barren.

If one looked to the right. Another portrait, rating slightly larger than the average, sat in a sort of pristine glory, though it was anything but. A shop front with an awning bearing the legend "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" showed proudly at the top (the name Weasley sounded very familiar for some reason), and the windows were crammed with various materials that could only be meant for pranking. One poster immediately grabbed attention, bright purple with yellow lettering about "U-NO-POO, the constipation sensation that's sweeping the nation," or so it said. It even said that it ought to be more worrisome than YOU-KNOW-WHO, which meant that, whatever this shop was, it had been around in the first War with Voldemort. Other posters advertised things called Skiving Snack-boxes, some sort of Peruvian powder, and Pygmy Puffs (apparently small-bred puffskeins).

These, however, were things barely even noticed by anyone in the room, and certainly not by the girl starved for family. Right in front of her, sitting in a comfortable, cuddling position below the apple tree were two people who could have been, would have been, her family if Dumbledore had just taken his head out of his ass and done something to prevent the attack that had claimed their lives. A man with short, messy hair leaned against the trunk of the tree, long legs splayed in front of him, and hazel eyes sparked with mischief behind slightly-clunky rims of very seventies-style glasses. His arm was wrapped around the waist of a woman, petite but still tall (or appearing so) with long auburn tresses, a lightly freckled face, and eyes of Evans green.

It was the woman who broke the silence in the office. "Hello, you must be Charlotte, Remus, and Sirius, right? I'm Lily, Evan's mother, and this lump," she elbowed the man at her side playfully, "is my husband, James. It's nice to meet you all; I always wanted a niece... though I suppose cousin-niece might be a bit closer to our relationship, don't you agree?" It was all Charlotte could to do to nod in the face of this smiling icon of what could have been. Had she been raised by her _cousin-aunt_ to adopt the woman's phraseology, there would have been love, obviously, and she would've had proper parent figures and three surrogate siblings instead of the Twin Terrors of Dudley and Delilah.

"It's nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Pronghorn," Remus addressed, however at the glare from the woman in question, he changed to her given name, earning a smile. Apparently she didn't want to be called anything more formal. He paused, glancing at the still grinning painted-clone of Jacob Black. "Does he do anything other than smile, or did you marry him for his looks?"

"Oi!" The portrait-man snapped, the grin falling in place of a slight pout to give him the air of either one who is extremely childish or else mocking hurt. None could discern which it really was, probably. "I take offense to that, mate. Anyway, welcome to the realm known only as Evan's office, you lot. This is where he does any and all important thinking, works on keeping everything afloat since – for some reason – he doesn't trust goblins very much, and comes to talk to his loving-slash-dead family, also known as us. To your right you will see Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the best joke shop on the face of the earth, even in painting form, and to the left is an old family library that was burned down in the seventies. Oh, and don't bother trying to dig about in that desk for anything telling; he brought everything along with him."

Charlotte blinked slowly, attempting to properly assimilate the information before nodding. What he said _seemed_ straight forward enough. Although, it _was_ curious that a man who was supposed to be American had such a distinctive Welsh accent. Due to the silent nature of the room, she assumed she was either meant to talk or else her godfather were just as stunned as she was by the snappish introduction (or perhaps merely perplexed by the man who so resembled their best friend's brother from the few pictures showing him with cropped hair). "Er, Mr. Pronghorn," she stopped at the quirked eyebrow and smirk as he mouthed "Call me James!" at her (which was terribly odd), "_James_, sorry. I was just wondering... you look a lot like my mother's older brother, Jacob Black. I was just..." she played with the hem of her shirt, not looking up, but apparently her "cousin-uncle" understood the query.

"If I was him," he supplied the end of the sentence after a moment's silence, eyes apparently surveying the trio as they slowly moved from side to side. He paused, sighing, and ruffled his hair as a seeming nervous tick. "First of all, you have to understand that, as a portrait, I don't remember everything that happened in the subject's life. I've got some highlights, weddings, spell knowledge – and we _can_ do magic in the painted realm – and the final moments of life is about all the memories I have. I'm just a shade, an imprint of personality and a spark of magic and soul, like when a person killed with the Killing Curse comes out of a wand from _Priori Incantatem_, I'm not... not quite _real_. I'm not genuinely James Pronghorn, something that Evan came to terms with quickly enough; I'm just someone with the same personality and who saw parts of his life from his perspective. I guess that's the only way I can explain it. However, to the best of my knowledge, James Pronghorn was never known as Jacob Black. His sister was a squib, not a Potter witch, or else life might have been easier. I do know that there was a Potter somewhere down the line though." Where a minute before, the man had seemed goofy, a mischievous person like the two men beside Charlotte, but he had proven himself to be at least capable of sentient thought, even as a portrait.

Lily kissed him on the cheek and ruffled as hair, as if he were a particularly bright child. "I always knew you had a brain beneath all this hair," she grinned when he scoffed. The relationship between the couple was obviously odd to say the least.

"Say, Lily," Sirius' beginning was innocuous enough to make the suspicion on the portrait's face obvious. She wasn't falling for whatever he was going to pull even before he'd started on it; Charlotte wasn't sure if she liked that or not, since it meant the not-quite-woman had sense by not listening to the prankster, but they also wouldn't be getting as much information as Sirius was no doubt hoping. "What can you tell us about Evan?" Charlotte sighed at his bluntness, and Lily had a rather annoyed expression on her face.

"He was born on July 31st, 18 years ago," she stated in a matter-of-fact manner. Charlotte was surprised. Evan had never mentioned that the day he had taken her from the Dursleys – her birthday – was his own as well. "His specialties in school are Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations, and Charms, the latter subjects less than the former and inherited from my husband and I respectively. He used to be mediocre at Potions, but in the past two years he has become able to brew some of the more difficult ones flawlessly, as you no doubt noticed. His worst subjects are History and Divination – though he is getting better now that he's become more studious – and never even looked at Ancient Runes and Arithmancy as options because a friend told him they would be too hard." This last bit seemed a personal nuisance to the woman.

"He's also a painfully polite boy," she continued, "to the point of apologizing for even the most unlikely of imagined slight. He's only ever had four really good friends and a very small surrogate family, and only because they came to him; he's infinitely shy, quiet, and no one could ever call him a social butterfly. However, if he does call someone a friend, he'll defend them, physically, emotionally, and psychologically, with his life, no questions asked. They would have to willfully wrong him in some unimaginable way for him not to, or for him to turn his back. He found out some things before he came here about some people – post-thumously – that instigated his impromptu journey to England in the first place, which is when he found out about you. He likes to think he can prevent similar things from happening to any of you as well. Of his four friends, only three were true, and one of them probably said it best; he has a hero-complex."

The woman paused her tirade of information to huff, slumping back against the tree, arms crossed over her chest. In all honesty, these were not the things she expected to be finding out about her cousin when they had come to invade his office. True, she hadn't expected there to be any portraits in the room (the only one in the entire house that she had seen was in the library of a girl with bushy brown hair reading a book, and that was a still portrait instead of the mobile version), but the information spread was still exhaustive. He _had_ said that he was good at Defense – the rumors about him being the only Seventh year capable of beating off the Imperius not withstanding – and it was obvious to anyone who looked that, if he was being at all social or seemed outgoing, he was really fighting some instinctive response to _not_ be, but loyalty? Shyness? It didn't seem like the man she was going to school with at all.

The light murmur of "until he started overdosing on calming draughts" almost missed Charlotte entirely.

By the time she had really been able to formulate a response, the bespectacled painting was talking again, looking a little miffed. "Anything else you wanted to know? Love life perhaps? He's had one serious girlfriend, who I suspect was putting him under the influence of a potion or compulsion of some sort. He went on one sympathy date with another girl before getting together with his girlfriend, and the girl turned out to be a total wackadoo. He's never gone past second base. Need I go on?" Of course this little diatribe had Charlotte blushing. She did _not_ want to think about her cousin _snogging_ anyone. It was disturbing.

"Actually," Remus piped up, "you mentioned his friends. He's mentioned them in passing, like the girl in the library, but what do you know about them? And since when are there any Weasleys in America, let alone any who would start a joke shop that pokes fun at Voldemort?" He'd obviously noted the U-NO-POO sign in the window.

"I dunno since when, they might not even be from the same family as any Weasleys you would know, but Harry had a friend who was one. Never mention him by the way – terribly jealous bloke, I'm afraid. But he had a couple of older brothers, pranksters, who set up a joke shop," he pointed lazily at the shop front in question. "They made a lot of interesting things for the war effort, actually. His little sister was the girlfriend I mentioned, who had apparently hero-worshipped Evan as a child, the sort of school-girl crush that ought to have been crushed by the real world but never was. The three real friends were great from what I here though. The girl in the library was his second ever friend – first discounting the Weasley – and a real bookworm. The other two he only really got to know three years ago. One batty, but brilliant, and the other a seeming to be a total wimp, but he had a true lion's heart." Here he paused. "He mentioned a boy in your year who seems much the same. Longbottom."

It was an idle remark, but still rather odd. Neville? Well, he'd stood up to her, Rhianna, and Hayden in first year, which was kind of brave... for him. Parts sounded... well, almost a bit like her life, but reversed in ways. After all, she had apparently been compelled to fall in love with _Alexander Prewett_ of all people (not only was he a year younger, but the way he always leered at her was _creepy_, creepier than Colin Creevey), and now that she wasn't compelled to like Rhianna, she found the idea of spending time with the temperamental girl even more draining than before. Of course, the fact that someone (Dumbledore) had put a compulsion on her to give in to the girl all the time just made her angry as hell and want to punch a wall... but she wouldn't. She might steal a calming draught from Evan when she got into Hogsmeade though; that sounded good.

In fact, leaving right then sounded like a nice idea.

"Is there any way for us to get in here without having to go through the ordeal of Sirius picking locks again?" She asked suddenly. No way was she not going to talk to them again, and if it spared her having to deal with Sirius' unorthodox methods again, so be it.

"Of course there is," Lily smiled at her, apparently done with giving them the silent treatment (it had only lasted a minute anyway). "You could, for instance, ask permission from Evan instead of sneaking in," Charlotte rolled her eyes. Then he would know what they talked about, _and_ that she had been in his study, which she technically wasn't supposed to go into. "Or you could use some very complex warding theory to hack into Evan's ward matrices and have them clue in your magical signatures," not likely. Only Sirius was any good with wards of the adults in the room, and Charlotte didn't know anything about the base subjects of manipulation, ancient runes, or anything else. "_Or_, you could use a parseltongue password." Any shifting immediately stopped.

"A _parseltongue_ password?" Charlotte had paled at the thought. How did they know about her being a parseltongue? She'd never told even Remus and Sirius, and the news never was put in the Prophet for some reason (she was glad though). They shouldn't have... but there was Evan. Evan who knew everything about everything, especially if it had to do with her.

"Of course a parseltongue password," James now looked bewildered at them. "H-er, Evan set it as soon as he bought the house..." he trailed off as he took an elbow to the ribs from his fiery maned wife. "Ow! What was that for? It's not like he didn't..." He paused, taking in the shocked visages of the three before him before slumped and smacking his head vigorously against the tree trunk. An apple fell next to his foot and a few leaves shook off as well. "He didn't tell you, did he?"

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

Evan was sitting solo at a small table in the Three Broomsticks, sipping idly at a butterbeer and doing a muggle crossword (and failing, since he knew less about the modern muggle world and television programs than he had as a kid) when he felt the slight buzzing in the back of his head that signaled, for the second time that day, that someone (likely Sirius) had broken into his study at the Sanctuary. The first time had been a fluke, most likely, as the buzz stopped quickly, meaning the door had been closed without anyone going in. This second time, two hours later (and an hour and a half into his time in Hogsmeade) it went off a bit more urgently.

Mind, he ignored it. After all, what mischief could really be gotten into in the office at the moment? So long as the painted versions of the two men living in his house left the portrait with the rat in tow, he was safe. He had the utmost confidence that his mother's shade would make them do so, and as such there would be no big unveiling of his most closely guarded secrets. Then again, he guarded all of them quite closely, which was why he had originally burned the portraits of Ron and Ginny he had had made after the Battle of Hogwarts (even if Ron had eventually been a real friend, ish – it took six bloody years! – they deserved it anyway) and almost-accidentally come up with his false name when he arrived in this world. Of course, he had been totally spaced out on Calming Draughts, thought analytically about the likelihood of "Harry James Potter" being a _bad_ name to have a vault under, and said the first thing that came into his head, but it had worked out anyway.

The humming grew more insistent, meaning that Sirius, and likely Remus and Charlotte as well, had entered Evan's study. An instant later, a small bell tinged in his mind. They were talking with the portrait then, but hopefully the shades of his parents would be discrete, and portrait-Sirius wouldn't do something dumb like shout about turning Wormtail purple or something equally foolish. Knowing him, however, there was a solid chance of it.

Sighing as the alarms started affecting his equilibrium, he pulled a small phial from his belt loop, downing the shimmering silver concoction with practiced ease. Just when the regular calming draughts had stopped lasting beyond an hour, he finally found the proper potion while researching for an essay on the Dementor potion that had been introduced the first day of Potions class, as it had been bumped up in the schedule due to some conflict in the greenhouses or something. The Serenity Solution was directly between peace and calm, and would likely hold off any mental breakdowns when he progressed beyond legal potions for another half-year or so. In that same study session, he had also managed to find out that the Liquefied Essence of Dementor's Breath, when not surrounded by a cheering ward, was clear and impenetrable by any substance but pure Quartz crystal. It was also the potion that had been guarding the fake locket horcrux.

Even as his hand lowered and the alarms stopped ringing, his wrist was caught. He glanced indolently at the hand which had snagged it, and was rather surprised to see the long, pale fingers wrapped about it so uncomfortably led up an arm drenched in black cloth to a pale face with a hooked nose and a curtain of greasy black hair. Snape. Evan looked at him, cocking an eyebrow as he did. What was he doing?

"What do you think you are doing, Mr. Pronghorn?" Snape snapped. He'd stolen Evan's question straight from him... but not through legilimancy, he was pretty sure. He'd gotten _damn_ good at occlumancy (in his uneducated opinion), especially with his mood-altering potions coursing though his veins. However, for some reason when that thought ended, he found himself in the alley behind the pub, watching in confusion as Snape dragged his further in. How had that happened? He hadn't apparated them back there, because Evan would have noticed... "Do you have any idea what that potion can do to you?"

Without thought, the time/universe traveler replied, "The Serenity Solution calms nerves, settles stomachs, nullifies head aches, and can dull mental and emotional trauma. It is one step above the simple calming draught taught at Hogwarts, and one below the Draught of Peace, which leaves the victim often in a peaceful, unfeeling stupor. Often considered the second step of the magical drug range as basic calming draughts can be compared to muggle 'gateway drugs' such as marijuana. Side effects include a build-up of moonstone in one's blood, dazedness, insomnia, lethargy, lack of and/or increased appetite, lack of sensation in extremities, hostility, lack of caring, detachedness, and disinterest in the world around one's self. Did I miss anything?" He'd quoted that directly out of the textbook he had found it in and was rather proud of himself for it.

Snape, however, seemed livid, as his normally pallid countenance was now a rather interesting shade of red that, certainly, Vernon Dursley would have been jealous of were he not rotting away in the muggle ward of Azkaban, Evan was sure. "No, Pronghorn, except for the fact that it is against school policy and I could have you expelled for taking that potion off of a prescription. _Why_ are you drinking such a dangerous potion, and in broad daylight, _in public_?" Ebony eyes were boring into green, and a slight probe of legilimancy was batted away harmlessly. "Are you as much of an idiot as your brat of a cousin?"

"Excuse me?" Evan's voice was hard. Yes, Snape could get away with expelling him; he didn't really care (couldn't was more like), but Charlotte was innocent in this conversation, and he would be _damned_ if he'd let the Git get away with insulting her. Even the effects of the Serenity Solution weren't going to override that. "Firstly, Cheri is _not_ a brat. She grew up nothing like that one you mistake her for, _as you well know_, sir, so don't pretend that she has anything in common with either of her parents that is not seen routinely, and not just when you feel like scorning someone. And second, she has nothing whatsoever to do with you questioning me about my questionable habits. So butt out."

Snape drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly as the blood fled his cheeks, though his glare remained on his student's face. "Why are you drinking Serenity Solutions, Mr. Pronghorn?" He articulated clearly, in a way that any seasoned Gryffindor knew to be his "you'd better not screw this up or you will have detention for the rest of your life" tone. It also applied to when he wanted to get someone (such as Evan... when he was still Harry Potter) to fess up before he gave them an even worse punishment anyway.

"With all do respect, sir, it's really none of your business," Evan tore his arm from his grip as he said this, straightened his robe, and noted absently that he still had his butterbeer in the opposite hand. He took a slug of it and turned around. With the vague detachment of mind-from-body that he had been blessed with from his wonderful silvery potion not three minutes before, the thought of a way to unnerve Snape and perhaps get himself off the hook, too. Not that he cared or anything, but something told him that he didn't want to get expelled. Merlin only knew why. "I've Seen things that would make even your greasy hair curl."

And with that, Evan left him. After all, he was sure Snape would want to keep enough of his dignity not to have a student see him gaping and pale.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

Tipping the small phial of translucent green liquid, the contents spilled over the diadem. It seemed to writhe, screamed even, before the basilisk venom finished its work, destroying all the magic in the ancient tiara to leave it as harmless as a butterfly. Although, the twining strands of bronze and twinkling sapphires had a different sort of beauty about them. Evan grinned at the sight, swiftly pocketing the ex-horcrux as it stopped hissing. Since it didn't seem to have any adverse effect on him, he assumed that his foray into the Chamber of Secrets to milk the venom sacs of the basilisk's corpse hadn't been in vain. The giant snake had been surprisingly well preserved, as if it hadn't even gone into rigor mortis yet... but that was ridiculous, of course; it had been dead for over a year! Maybe they just decomposed very slowly or something.

That, however, was far beside the point. There was no malice in the diadem when he touched it (Evan rather figured there had to be if it was a horcrux still, since the diary had inspired obsession and the locket made everyone – particularly Ron – very grumpy), so he happily – if his stoic state of being and wry smirk could be considered happy – stuffed it into his bag and turned around. Not that his turning around was particularly spectacular, mind, but it led to him weaving his way through the Storage Room in the Room of Requirement, almost tripping over a stuffed bear, and finding his way to what should have been the exit.

Should have been, of course, being the operative words. Instead, as he rounded the last bend, the storage room vanished and he found himself faced with a room resembling the Gryffindor Common Room, except with a color scheme that was less inclined to the house of traitorous lions. Meaning it was green and a silvery gray. So, really, it was what the Slytherin Common Room would have looked like if the creator – and, indeed, the inhabitants – cared to have a more homey room to spend all of their free time in. Honestly, it was an improvement on the cold, stony room that was nine floors lower in the castle.

Considering it was seven am (a time when no self-respecting teenager would ever be awake at), he might have been surprised to find that Charlotte was sitting in a deep green chair and playing a game of solitaire with Exploding Snap cards. Surprise didn't really seem to register though, as he simply shrugged at the sight and slumped into a gray chair, staring at the dancing flames. Really, it wasn't so bad sitting like that, even if he had toppled over the arms and now had his legs over the side. An awkward position, but he really couldn't be bothered to care just then. Evan hadn't really been bothered to care about much of anything that wasn't terribly important lately, actually. And even those took effort.

"So," Charlotte stated as she drew her hand back from an ominous crack made by one of her cards, "you're a parselmouth?" Evan glanced at her. Was that really terribly important? Of course, when he was twelve and fourteen and fifteen it had been, because first people had thought he was the heir of Slytherin, and then in the Triwizard Tournament, Rita Skeeter told everyone about it so that she could trash talk him, and everyone assumed he was a crazy psycho snake-lover in fifth year, but was that important? After all, Charlotte had and would go through some of the same stuff, and she must already know. He had the sneaking suspicion that his portrait-father had informed her inadvertently, since he couldn't recall telling James _not_ to tell whenever they decided to break into his office.

"Mhm," he hummed in return, continuing to watch the flames flicker down from the grate. When had the world gone upside-down? Oh, wait, _Evan_ was upside-down... when had that happened? Oh well, he didn't move out of the position, despite him knowing there would be a crick in his neck later. "Enjoy your talk with my parents?"

Charlotte jumped at the question. Why would she jump at it? It was perfectly normal to ask... well, maybe not. Most people didn't have wards based in their mind, but it was the simplest way to anchor them, at least for the teen. He couldn't fathom doing it otherwise... why was he so off track in his thoughts? He had no clue, but he focused as his kinda-sorta cousin started talking.

"You know? What am I saying, of course you do. You're you, after all," she chuckled nervously, reclining in her seat. One of the cards she had just placed exploded, setting the table on fire. "Um... could you?" She pointed at the table with its merrily crackling flames and Evan drew his wand, waving it lazily with the muttered incantation "aguamenti." It was rather stupid to not teach that spell until sixth year, but Flitwick must've had his reasons... er, _her_ now, but did it matter? "Thanks... your parents seemed nice enough. Seemed mad when Sirius asked them about you though."

"Did he ask something in a way that was blatant when he seemed to be trying to be discrete? Because if he was, I can understand. My parents aren't keen on anyone thinking they might be at all gullible or dim, even just the imprints in the portraits, and they're rather protective of me," Evan shrugged, which was odd as, not only could she likely not see it, but he was merely shoving his shoulders into the arm of the chair. "It's not polite to try to manipulate people like that, but I suppose I understand. Some people just don't like straightforwardness, others require plying for information. Really, though, asking them straight out might have yielded better results to whatever his query was."

"Oh." It was a flat sort of "oh," he noted, though he wasn't not sure why. No disappointment, embarrassment, surprise, anything, just a simple, emotionless, "oh." Evan wasn't not sure if that actually has any significance to anything that exists anywhere in the universe, but for some reason that was what his mind was picking up on at the time. Funny how the mind works when logged down by potions. "So you aren't mad that we broke in?"

"Nope," and he wasn't. What did he care, really? Nothing important was in there, and the shades knew better than to reveal anything. They cared too much for that. "If I hadn't expected you lot to go in, would I have taken the care to completely empty my desk, or to leave such blatant passwords to the door? I solemnly swear I'm up to no good is quite obvious when you live with the infamous marauders, I would think; don't you? So no, I'm not the least bit aggravated nor put-off by your supposedly impromptu break-in. Besides, I knew when Sirius – or I'm assuming it was Sirius – broke in yesterday the first time. If I cared even in the slightest, you would have known." And he really didn't care. "How about the compulsions? I'm guessing Remus figured out something?" He _was_ interested in this one... he thought... maybe? Okay, so he wasn't sure, but as all of his compulsions were still activated, at least thirteen if not more, he thought he must have been. It was rather annoying to have to shove away instincts all the time... perhaps. It was hard to recall, come to think of it. Did he care?

"They're gone," she murmured, a smile in her voice. "There were a lot of them, thirteen actually. Some to make me trust Rhianna, her father, and Dumbledore, one that made me unsociable, and even one that was going to make me fall in love with _Alexander_ of all people." The disgust was evident, but it wasn't the disgust that perked his attention. Ginny's opposite number in this world was the compulsory crush of _his_ alternate. So had Evan been under a compulsion to like Ginny at all? He remembered that, at the end of fifth year, he thought Harry had been developing a crush for Luna, and then... and then suddenly something, a lion in his chest was what he had called it, he believed, told him that he wanted Ginny. The portrait of his dad had said... but could it really be like that? Were there compulsions that did that? He didn't know what any of his were for, really, but even that short list sounded sinister. "Disturbing, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Evan murmured, distracted. Surely he wasn't victim to something of that sinister magnitude... but it seemed likely enough. Dumbledore's portrait, who had known of Voldemort's back-up plan to destroy Hogwarts had subverted the measures made by Snape and allowed it to be blown up after all; why wouldn't the genuine article manipulate Evan's love life too? He felt... well, he _felt_, which should be enough of a clue as to how this affected him. He thought it might have been anguish, or perhaps annoyance, or even righteous indignation and fury, but he sure. If that bastard could do that sort of thing to the three-hundred-some students celebrating the end of Exams (the end of their lives) then he could do something so comparatively insignificant to the so-called "savior." Dumbledore had already paid off Ron in the early years of their "friendship," so why not this?

For the first time in months, Evan didn't try to suppress the emotions with potions, but instead embraced them, waiting until Charlotte had left for breakfast to start breaking things. Something had to be done about Albus Dumbledore.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

**A/n: Wow. Over 25k reads! Awesome. Also, I didn't expect my little sarcastic-half-arsed plea from chapter 6 to actually garner reviews... but garner it did! It made me very happy... even though it was only seven extra. But w/e  
**

**Title from the Cure (because it's a good song). I called it that because this is actually a point in the book where NOTHING happens. It goes first to Moody lesson, nothing for a while, Imperius lesson, and suddenly it's time for the other schools to arrive. I wasn't going to have such a ginormous gap, and I had wanted this in here anyway, so... yeah.**

**Muhaha... the plot thickens! Cousin-niece/aunt/uncle/etc are phrases thought up by my cousin-aunt, Burning Man's own Glenda the Good Witch. It basically means child-of-a-cousin or cousin-of-a-parent depending on which form you use, obviously.**

**And, finally, I posted Walking on a Broken Past on Friday the 13****th****. Not much of a response as of yet, but I'll live, I'm sure. Anyway, in case you're too lazy to look at my profile and might be interested, this is the (elongated) summary:** **The war raged on. The muggles were purged from Britain and Nuclear War erupted. When a 37 year-old Harry Potter is struck by an unknown spell in what he hoped would be his final fight with Voldemort, he wakes up as a small child. He is adopted as Severus Tobias Snape, and he intends to change the future. But you know what the nebulous "they" say; the more things change...**

**You already knew I sucked at summaries, so I hope, if you've read this much of this tripe, that you'll know the story pwns the summary... and n00bs.**

**Edit: Decided to switch everything to full third person because one: what I've been doing is unprofessional (seemed like a fun idea at first, but it's damn lame) and two: I'm used to third person, so doing the first person sections feels unnatural to me. I usually end up writing it half in third before realizing and going to fix it anyway, so w/e.  
**


	8. Author's Note yes, one of those

Author's Note

Don't you just hate it when a good story has been abandoned? Well, good news! This story was absolute tripe. And it's abandoned... hell, this entire account is abandoned. Sorry... no, I'm not. Um... what can I say here? Basically, this story was stupid, the girl (I can't even remember her name... Charlotte? Was that it?) is a sue, Harry is too all knowing/powerful/successful/etc, and, wouldn't you know it, in the past 8 months I've discovered I have no drive to write this story anyway. No real plot either. And by switching Hermione's gender, I officially made it worse since I wanted to do Viktor/Hermione on the side, and I was thinking about making it slash but I'd never written slash before (cured, thanks). Charlotte was going to get with Draco (his reformation starting with Charlotte's little thing about Moody being a bastard), and Harry... I dunno what I was going to do with him to be honest. Might have been Harry/Tonks; don't remember.

To be honest, I concocted the entire story because I had the idea of a scene where Evan is helping Trelawney in Divination when Umbridge comes in to evaluate the class and Evan is being all nice and practically flirting while on the inside he was so disgusted that I was laughing from imaginary schadenfreude.

So, yeah. This story? Dead. Might try rewriting it eventually...

**To anyone interested in what I _have_ been writing the past many months: check out _Stalker of Stories_ (most of the stuff on there is slash, and not a lot of Harry Potter, but it's there)**


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